It Hurts Until It Doesn't
by KillTheWhelp
Summary: Sandor's feet started to lead him in the direction of Blackwater Bay. He wasn't entirely sure why he was drawn to the harbor, as he rarely had any interest in ships or swimming. But there he was, at the top of a set of stairs that led down to the rocky beach. And there she was, standing in the water, her skirt bunched up to her knees.
1. Prologue: Stupid Needles

**"…and then I** cut open her mattress and filled it with sheep shit," the young girl seated before me finished with a giggle.

"Arya Stark, your mother would have us both hanged if she heard the way I let you speak," I said, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

The eleven year-old turned in her seat, halting my hair-combing, showing me her ear-to-ear grin. Her big gray eyes had a mischievous glint to them. The young tomboy had a playful spirit. This was one of the many reasons I loved her as if she were my sister.

"Go on, continue to tell me how you love to torment your poor sister," I said, as if I didn't already know everything the girl had done. I flicked my wrist and Arya turned back around.

"It's not like she doesn't deserve it," Arya mumbled. "Sansa's nose is so high in the air it's a wonder she doesn't have nosebleeds all the time."

I pursed my lips. Arya's older sister was not my favorite of the Stark children. The auburn-haired thirteen year-old acted like a spoiled brat sometimes, making it very hard to sympathize with her when hearing tell of Arya's pranks.

"She thinks life is a song and that she's going to be saved from a dragon by a knight in shining armor," Arya continued.

"Too bad for her—the last dragons died out long ago," I murmured, setting my comb down on the girl's mattress beside me. I started to braid a strand of her dark brown hair.

"You should tell her if she ever puts her _stupid_ _needles_ down," Arya spat.

"Those _stupid needles_ come in handy, little lady," I reminded her. "Septa Mordane says you're slacking in her lessons. Sansa's been making her own dresses, but you're too busy day-dreaming about swords and archery."

"Because her lessons are _boring_ ," Arya whipped her head around and furrowed her brow at me.

I couldn't help the grin on my face. I was about as lowborn as lowborn was so I never had to attend lessons on how to be a _proper_ lady. When I first came to Winterfell I was taught a few things, but not nearly as much as the young ladies were. I could only imagine I would take to all of those lessons like the girl sitting between the roaring fire and me.

"Turn back around, little one," I said. I began to braid another strand of her hair once she turned.

"Fallon, tell me again about your life in the south," she said.

I gulped, trying to remember what abridged version of my childhood I had told her before. "I lived in the south until shortly before Robert Baratheon rebelled against the Mad King."

"Did you ever see him? The Mad King?" Arya asked over her shoulder.

"No, I can't say I did."

"But you lived in King's Landing."

"Aye. In a charming little slum called Flea Bottom. The Mad King rarely left the Red Keep, fearing assassins at every turn. I doubt he'd venture into our district.

"You have such beautiful hair, Arya, I can't wait until it grows longer," I added, running my hands through the loose hair that hung past her shoulders.

"What did your parents do?" Arya refused to stray away from the topic at hand.

"They ran a tavern. My mother occasionally sang and played the lute. She started teaching me on my fifth nameday. She died three months after."

"Were you sad?"

"Terribly so," I chewed on the inside of my cheek. "She was a lovely woman, given her circumstances."

"And what about your father?" Arya asked.

"I imagine there was a time when he had more redeeming qualities," I sighed, tying up her hair at the crown of her head with a gray ribbon. "He was not-so lovely after she died."

"How so?"

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. "I'd best fetch you some hot water for your bath, little lady."

"Wait," Arya whipped fully around in her seat before I could even take a step away. "At least remind me how you came to Winterfell."

"I ran away and booked passage with a band of traveling actors," I told her, smoothing a flyaway hair down on her head.

"Did you act with them?" she asked.

"Until we arrived here and they sold me to your grandparents, who took me on as a servant. But they were very kind to me. Kinder than most in the nobility would be to such a lowborn girl. They taught me to read, taught me to say ' _my lady_ ' like the other highborns instead of 'milady', and they even had a lute made especially for me. Your Aunt Lyanna used to have me play for her, before she was taken away. I don't have many memories of her, but she was as kind as she was beautiful. You look just like her."

Arya wrinkled her nose, taking my compliment as an insult. Unlike most of her female peers, she could not have cared less about beauty.

"Now, sweet girl, let me prepare your bath."

As I walked out of Arya's room, I felt a knot in my throat. I wasn't much of a practicing woman, but I prayed to the Seven that the girl never encountered a man as vicious and depraved as my father.

* * *

 **We'll see how this goes. Can't say updates will be consistent, but I'll try my darndest. Fair warning-I haven't read the books (yet), but I'm aware of some of the stuff in them, thanks to the Wiki of Ice and Fire, SO this will be based on the show with some of my own shit.**

 **I don't own anything except for my own OC's. Many thanks to GRRM and D &D for their amazing work.**


	2. Winter is Coming

**I stared out** the window, watching as young Bran, Arya's ten year-old brother, aimed his bow at one of the two targets. Seventeen year-olds Robb and Jon stood by his shoulders, watching over the boy. Robb was the eldest full-blooded Stark and Jon was their bastard brother. Instead of being a Stark, he was given the last name of Snow, like all the other acknowledged bastards in the North.

Bran released his arrow, but it landed in a nearby cask instead of the target. The boy angrily stomped his foot. Jon put his hands on the boy's shoulders and muttered something to him. They both looked up over their shoulders to where I assume Lord Eddard "Ned" Stark and Lady Catelyn stood on the balcony outside the castle.

"I see young Arya isn't the only one getting distracted by the archery," Septa Mordane, a middle-aged woman, said in my ear.

She had been giving the highborn adolescent girls a needlepoint lesson in this room and I was failing to do my job. The septa had asked me to attend her lessons so as to help keep Arya focused on her tasks.

I turned around sheepishly. "Apologies, Septa," I bobbed my head.

She cocked an eyebrow at me knowingly and turned around to check on Sansa's work. I caught Arya's eye and she smirked at me.

"Fine work as always. Well done."

"Thank you," Sansa replied.

"I love the detail that you've managed to get in these corners…"

I could tell that Arya was annoyed—doing needlepoint, wearing a dress, hearing her sister's praises being sung, not being able to do the things she wanted to do. I felt for the girl. Though the North was cold, it was nice to escape outdoors and feel free, even for a little while. I offered her a smile and turned back to stare out the window while Septa Mordane wasn't looking.

Bran continued to shoot arrows at the target, but none seemed to land where he expected them to. I could see Jon and Robb struggling not to laugh too loudly. Six year-old Rickon, the youngest of the Starks, sat on a mounted saddle with a wooden sword in his hand, watching his brother. The little boy was also trying to stifle his giggles. I could tell Bran was getting frustrated and I couldn't blame him. Especially when he released another arrow and it went straight over the wall behind the targets. The surrounding boys couldn't hold back their laughter. I supposed climbing was more Bran's talent than archery, much to Lady Catelyn's displeasure.

"And which one of you was a marksman at ten?" boomed the powerful voice of Ned Stark from the balcony. The laughter stopped and the boys looked back up at him. "Keep practicing, Bran. Go on."

Jon leaned down and said something to Bran again before the young boy raised his bow. Robb also advised him, but I couldn't hear a word he said.

Then an arrow came shooting out over Bran's shoulder, straight into the middle of the target. A smile tugged at the corner of my lips and I had a feeling who the culprit was. I looked behind me and saw that my young charge had escaped the premises.

Before Septa Mordane had even noticed, I picked up my skirts and headed for the door.

"I'll find her," I muttered under my breath, trying to hide how proud of that little girl I was.

* * *

"Jon Arryn is dead."

" _Lord_ Jon Arryn is dead. Don't forget the title."

"He's dead. He doesn't need it anymore."

I snickered. "It's respectful to refer to him by his title, sweet child. Even if he _is_ your uncle by law."

"Fine," Arya said, splashing in the tub as I stoked the fire. " _Lord Jon Arryn, Hand of the King_ ," she said in a voice clearly mocking her highborn status, "is dead. And King Robert is traveling north to Winterfell."

"Correct," I scratched her new pet behind her ears as she basked in the heat from the fire.

Earlier that day, after executing a deserter from the Night's Watch—an organization that protected the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros from the Wildlings up north—Lord Stark, his boys, and his ward Theon Greyjoy found the body of a direwolf, which happens to be the sigil of House Stark. Direwolves were not known south of the Wall, but this mother had found her way, giving birth to six pups shortly before attacking a stag and ending up with an antler in her neck. Lord Stark had reluctantly allowed his children—including his bastard, Jon—to keep a pup each, as long as each child took care of their wolf. Arya had named her pup Nymeria after the warrior-queen of Dorne from a thousand years before.

"Robb said he's going to ask father to be the new Hand," Arya said.

"That would probably explain why he's coming and bringing along just about everyone from the Red Keep," I turned around and saw Arya piling her wet locks of hair atop her head.

"Is this how highborn ladies look in King's Landing?" she asked, making a face.

"Perhaps you shall find out soon," I grinned. "Perhaps your father will marry you off to Lord Tyrion and you'll move down south with him."

"The _Imp_?" Arya grimaced.

"I've been told he's quite handsome, despite his…"

"Deformity?"

"Be kind," I looked down my nose at the girl before grabbing a comb from the bedside table. "I only said you could be married off to him in jest, but remember when you meet him that he also deserves respect, just as everyone else you meet does, little lady. I'm sure it's hard to come by for a dwarf, even as a lord—even as the brother of the queen.

"No, you may not get married to Lord Tyrion, but you will be married to some other lord when you're older," I finished.

"If anyone's going to be married off, it's going to be Sansa," Arya drew her knees to her chest as I combed her wet hair. "I'm never getting married."

"Oh, is that right?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Never," Arya shook her head. "That's not me."

* * *

Within the month, the castle made preparations for the arrival of King Robert, his family, and his men. And as the day loomed, the halls lit up with candles and the kitchens filled the castle with delicious scents that made my stomach rumble.

Soon word spread round that the king and his procession were nearing our gates. No matter what standing anyone was in Winterfell, everyone dressed as nicely as they could. I wore my best dress and wrapped myself in my best fur. I also made sure to touch up Arya's hair before she ran off.

I went outside to stand among the population to receive the king. I craned my neck to see all of the approaching horses, struggling to see behind Robb's curly brown hair. Jon, standing beside me behind the Stark family, snickered a little. I nudged him in the ribs with my elbow and smirked.

"Where's Arya?"

My head snapped down and I saw Catelyn looking down her line of children. She turned to me.

"Fallon, where is she?" she demanded.

"My lady, I just saw her a moment ago," I said, fervently looking around for the little girl. Of course she had wandered off.

Moments later, she came running over, a shit-eating grin on her face. She had a helm on her head and I frowned, worrying her hair was going to be messed up.

"Hey, hey, hey," Ned grabbed her before she could run past him to stand with her siblings. "What are you doing with that on?" He lifted the helm, revealing her hair to be fine. "Go on."

Arya groaned and went over to Bran, whom she shoved closer to the stableman named Hodor. "Move," she grunted at him and I chewed my lip, making a note to tell her not to be so rude later.

I watched as the soldiers rode in through the gates, admiring their helms and armor. Among the first to ride into our keep was a teenaged boy with pale skin and blonde hair, whom I assumed was Robert's oldest son, Prince Joffrey. But I was more interested by the man behind him.

He was much taller than the boy—taller even than some of the men before and after him. Covered in dark armor, he had a large sword strapped to his back and a distinctive helm in the shape of a snarling dog. I found myself wondering what lay behind the metal jowls.

"Who is that behind the prince?" I muttered before realizing I had even opened my mouth.

"I've 'eard of 'im," Theon said from the other side of Jon Snow. Theon was around the same age as Robb and Jon, but he tried to conduct himself like he was much older. "They call 'im _the Hound_."

"The Hound?" I repeated. "Why do they call him that?"

"'Cause 'e's a vicious dog, that's why. I 'eard 'is face is—"

"Shut up," Sansa turned around and from my peripheral vision I could tell she was glowering at us.

I noticed that Joffrey was smiling at Sansa and I wondered if a betrothal might be on its way. I couldn't help but keep looking at the Hound, hoping he would soon take off his helm. And as luck would have it, he pried open the jaws and revealed some of his face. I could hardly see a thing, but I could tell that he had a beard and I could faintly make out a lock of dark hair hanging over the right side of his face.

An ornate carriage rolled in through the gate and coming in behind it was one of the knights in golden armor, then our king. He was a portly man with a ruddy face, framed by a graying beard and long hair. He had clearly seen better days. Once a fearsome warrior, his years of drinking and otherwise gluttony had made him gain a bit of weight.

Following Ned's lead, everyone fell to their knees, bowing to the king. I ventured a glance up and watched him struggle to get off his horse, needing a pair of steps to get down. I heard his heavy footfalls come closer and raised my eyes the slightest bit to see his boots and the hem of his thick fur cloak stopping before Ned. He gestured for the lord to stand and we all followed suit once again, silently watching the king size up his old friend.

"Your Grace," Lord Stark bobbed his head.

The king was silent for a tense moment.

"You've got fat," he finally said.

There was another tense moment. I could've sworn I saw Ned nod his head at Robert's bloated stomach. Then Robert burst into his laugh—a sharp wheeze. Ned chortled and the two men wrapped each other in a friendly embrace.

"Caaat," the king stepped over to Lady Stark and put his arms around her as well.

"Your Grace," she said, sounding a bit uncomfortable.

Robert put his gloved hand atop Rickon's head then stepped back towards Ned. "Nine years—why haven't I seen you? Where the hell have you been?"

"Guarding the North for you, Your Grace," Ned told him as the royal family and their servants exited the carriage. "Winterfell is yours."

Queen Cersei, a beautiful woman with golden hair, came forward, eyeing her surroundings. She didn't seem very impressed. I wasn't surprised. She was from the richest family in the Seven Kingdoms. She grew up on Casterly Rock with the other Lannisters. There was no way she would find the North even the slightest bit enjoyable.

"Where's the Imp?" I heard Arya say to her sister. Yet again I chewed my lip.

"Will you shut up?" Sansa retorted.

I noticed that the Hound had climbed off his horse and had followed Joffrey to the carriage. He was an incredibly tall man, at least a head taller than the prince. I could still barely see his face. I was dying to know what Theon was going to say about it before Sansa interrupted.

"Who have we here?" Robert took a step to the other side of Ned. "You must be Robb," he said, shaking the hand of the eldest Stark child. He kept going down the line. "My, you're a pretty one," he said to Sansa. He bent at the waist to speak to Arya. "Your name is?"

"Arya," she told him.

"Oh," he moved on to Bran. "Show us yer muscles." He wheezed again, smiling as Bran freed an arm from his cloak to flex at him. "You'll be a soldier."

One of the Kingsguard—the men in golden armor—took off his helm and shook out his blonde hair. From what I could see, he was very handsome.

"That's Jaime Lannister, the queen's twin brother," Arya stated.

"Would you _please_ shut up?" Sansa snapped.

Cersei approached Ned and faked a smile. Without saying a word, she raised her hand and let Ned kiss her knuckles.

"My Queen," he said.

"My Queen," Catelyn echoed, dipping into a curtsy.

"Take me to your crypt," Robert said. "I want to pay my respects."

"We've been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait," Cersei looked at her husband, who ignored her.

"Ned," Robert nodded his head to his old friend and walked off.

Ned hesitated a moment before ducking after the king. See, Robert was once betrothed to Lyanna Stark, Ned's sister, before she was kidnapped by Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, thus sparking Robert's Rebellion. Rumor had it that Lyanna was Robert's one true love, but she was dead before he could take her back.

"Where's the Imp?" Arya repeated.

Cersei looked over at the girl before turning away, realizing that her younger brother was nowhere to be found.

"Where _is_ our little brother?" she asked Jaime. "Go and find the little beast."

* * *

Lady Catelyn had given me leave of watching over her youngest daughter for the night in favor of taking my lute and playing with the other musicians at the feast at my leisure. I couldn't have been happier to take that order. Though I truly did love Arya, I never felt better than when I had a lute in my hands and a song coming from my mouth.

As I sang and played, I observed the hall. Food never seemed to stop being carried out from the kitchens and everyone appeared to be having a joyous time. King Robert had abandoned his family at the high table and sat amongst the people. Clearly drunk, he couldn't keep his hands off the female servant charged with filling his wine. I watched as he wrapped his arms around the heavyset woman, pulling her into a kiss in full view of Queen Cersei and Lady Catelyn. Neither of the former seemed put off or ashamed of that fact. The queen looked disgusted.

I suddenly felt like someone was staring at me. My instincts led my gaze across the hall, near the table where the Stark children were sitting. Standing behind Joffrey, leaning against the wall, was an incredibly tall man with a beard and lank brown hair.

 _The Hound_ , I surmised.

I squinted my eyes, trying to get a better look at him. It seemed as though there was a patch of skin on the right side of his head where hair didn't grow. In fact, there appeared to be a lot of red skin on the right side of his head, possibly from a burn.

When he noticed that I caught his eye, he turned his head back to watch over Prince Joffrey. I chewed on my lip, deciding to take a break from playing. There were plenty of other musicians that my absence wouldn't have been noticed. Clutching my lute tightly to my chest, I took a few steps away from the others, my eyes flickering back to the enormous guard.

"I see you're still looking at the Hound," said a voice in my ear. I turned and saw Theon Greyjoy smirking at me. "That ugly fucker guards over Prince Joffrey."

"How do you know so much about him?" I cocked a brow at the teenager.

"I know things," he said defensively. "I don't have to explain myself to a _handmaiden_."

I rolled my eyes and looked back towards the Hound. "What were you going to say earlier? About his face?"

"I could tell you," he took my chin between his fingertips and turned my face to look at his smug countenance. "I could tell you a lot of things. _In the morning_."

"They say ignorance is bliss, and I'd like to keep a smile on my face," I said, grabbing his wrist and wrenching his hand from my face before he could try anything. This wasn't the first time the ward had tried to seduce me. He had a reputation for trying to fuck any girl with a pulse. He liked to think he was the best lover in all of Westeros.

"You _dare_ put your hand on the heir to the Iron Islands?" he asked in what he deemed a threatening tone. I could see right through it.

"I dare put my hand on Lord Stark's hostage," I smirked back at him.

"I could have you in the stockades by dawn."

"You could not and you know it."

Theon glared at me. But before he could say or do anything, a hand clad in a black glove grasped his shoulder.

"Is there a problem here?"

I looked up at the owner of that hand and found it belonged to a man I hadn't seen in years, not since Rickon had just been born. He had a long, handsome face and piercing blue eyes. His long hair and beard were dark, but not nearly as dark as the clothes he wore.

"Lord Benjen," I curtsied.

"No need for that, girl. You know I renounced all titles when I joined the Night's Watch," he smiled down at me and let go of Theon, who stormed off. "Does that little prick bother you often, Fallon?"

"Mm," I bounced my eyebrows, holding my lute aloft. "Nothing I can't handle myself."

"Oh?" he gave me a crooked smile.

"I vowed to myself long ago that no man would ever take me unless I wanted him to," I told Ned's younger brother.

Benjen snickered. "Sometimes that's entirely out of your control."

"Not if I can help it," I shrugged, thinking about the knife I always kept strapped to the bottom half of my right leg, just in case.

Benjen was silent for a moment, looking at me. "I haven't seen you in some time, Fallon. You've grown up quite nicely."

"Thank you," I bowed my head. "I'm happy to see you're still alive."

"Aye," he chuckled. "As am I."

I always appreciated Benjen's company. He was a lot less serious than Ned. And when I first came to live with the Starks he was kind to me. He was a highborn, nearing adulthood, but he treated me, a poor girl not much older than Rickon, with a lot of respect.

"I must go save my dear brother," Benjen grabbed my hand and kissed my knuckles. "By the Old Gods, I do hope our paths will cross again, Fallon."

"As do I," I smiled at him. "Gods be with you."

He nodded. He paused for a moment, wrapped his arms around me in a warm hug, and walked off. I watched his retreating figure, remembering the brief time in my adolescence, long after he'd sworn his vows, that I used to have feelings for him. I would dream about him coming home and falling in love with me, but I knew it would never happen. As I'd overheard him saying to a young Jon, his wife was duty and honor was his mistress.

I breathed a sigh and felt another pair of eyes on me. I looked up at the table where the children sat and saw Arya smiling at me. She beckoned to me with an ecstatic wave of her hand and I complied, wondering what she could possibly have to tell me.

I maneuvered my way across the hall, cradling my lute gingerly to my chest as I passed the raucous guests at the feast. As I approached the table, I got a much better look at the Hound. As tall as he looked from afar, he looked even larger up close. I snuck a glance at the marred side of his face. Mottled with scars, the flesh was dark red in places. I couldn't imagine how painful whatever caused that must have been. I gulped, looking away before he could even notice that I had studied his disfigurement. Instead, I walked past him, coming to Arya's side.

"Do you need something, my lady?" I asked.

"Come sit," she said, patting the spot next to her on the bench.

"Oh, I don't think that would be very proper," I looked up at the high table over my shoulder, but Catelyn didn't seem to care.

"Sit," Arya repeated. "And give me your lute."

I sighed and let the girl take the instrument from my hands, placing it on the table in front of my seat, pushing platters of food away so it could make room. Hitching up my skirts, I sat beside her.

"Watch this," Arya whispered in my ear. She took a spoon and scooped it into a bowl of stew. Before I could even guess what she was going to do, she flung the contents of the spoon across the table at her sister, who had been whispering to her friend Jeyne. There was now a dark splotch dripping from her cheek and onto her dress.

I covered my mouth to hide my laughter. I knew Sansa wasn't going to appreciate that. She and Jeyne, however, seemed to be the only people at the table not amused by the little lady's antics.

"Arya!" Sansa shrieked, undoubtedly horrified that this had happened in front of Joffrey of all people. Jeyne hurried to wipe her face with a cloth. "It's not funny! She always does this."

I could feel the cold gaze of Lady Catelyn boring holes into the back of my head and she gave me a tight-lipped grimace, jerking her head at Arya.

"This was my favorite dress and she ruined it! She always does it and it's not funny!" Sansa continued to moan, now being comforted not only by Jeyne, but by Septa Mordane as well.

"Time for bed, little lady," I said, standing up and lifting Arya out of her seat.

The girl was proud of herself and didn't contest more than a groan as I put her on her feet and led her away from the table with my hand on her shoulder blade.

"Did you see it, Fallon?" Arya giggled.

"I did, sweet child. Excellent aim," I muttered over her shoulder.

We came towards the Hound and I noticed he was staring down at me. I could now see his full face. His nose had been broken at least once before. His eyes were a lighter shade of brown, but he only had one dark eyebrow looming on the left side of his face. I could tell that he had tried to comb his lank hair over to the right to cover his scars, but they were still quite noticeable.

Without thinking, I offered him a small smile, which he didn't return. His face remained serious, but I could have sworn I'd seen his eyebrow twitch, as if this was the first time anyone had ever smiled at him without payment involved.

When we passed him and went into a corridor, Arya looked up at me.

"What happened to him? He looks like a monster," she said.

"I don't know, little lady," I said. "But remember what I said about being kind."

* * *

I had finally gotten Arya to bed and had retired to my chambers when I realized that I had left my lute sitting on the table. Having just slipped beneath my covers, I groaned to myself, knowing I would have to put my other dress back on to retrieve it. I had a feeling the festivities were coming to a close and I knew the doors to the hall would be locked soon.

Once I had risen out of bed, I heard a sharp rap on my door. Cursing under my breath at my state of undress, I grabbed a robe hanging from my changing screen and tied it around my nightgown-clad body.

I opened the door, finding Jon Snow outside of it, my lute in his arms. I hadn't seen him all night, as Lady Catelyn deemed it inappropriate to have her husband's bastard present at the feast. The poor boy had been resented by her since Ned arrived home with him after Robert's Rebellion. I couldn't say I entirely blamed her for being upset about his existence, but he was a good person.

"Thank you," I breathed, feeling a wave of relief flow through me as I took the lute from him.

"Don't thank _me_ , Fallon," he shook his head, his dark curls bouncing. "Someone else found it, asked me to make sure it got back to you."

"Oh?" I cocked a brow, wondering if it had been Benjen. I knew it wasn't Theon. He likely would have taken it to his room, refusing to give it back to me unless I bedded him. "And who was that?"

"Prince Joffrey's guard," Jon shrugged. I was surprised by the smile that tugged at the corners of my lips. "The Hound."


	3. No Ser

**"Fallon, will Bran** ever wake?" Arya looked up at me with concerned eyes. She had just gone to visit her brother, who had recently fallen from a tower and had been rendered unconscious. After sitting with her mother as she created a prayer wheel, Arya found me and asked me to take a walk with her.

"I can't say, little lady," I told her honestly. "Maester Luwin is doing his best to heal him."

"Maester Luwin said he may never wake up again," Arya wrapped her arms around herself, kicking at a tuft of hay on the ground in front of her.

"When did you hear that?" I asked.

"I heard him talking to father," she said, climbing onto the mounted saddle near the training yard.

"You were listening in again?" I cocked an eyebrow. "We've talked about this, Arya."

"It's about Bran," she said, looking out into the surrounding forest. I pursed my lips and nodded solemnly. "How did he fall?"

"Pardon, my lady?"

"He never falls. Bran climbs and climbs and he never falls," Arya looked down at me. "How did he fall?"

"Accidents happen," I shrugged, trying to convince myself. "Perhaps he missed a step."

"But he _doesn't_ ," Arya challenged.

"Then what do you think happened, sweet child?" I asked, knowing I was fighting a losing battle. I agreed with the girl—Bran was an expert climber. It seemed doubtful that he _just fell_. But no one had found anything to indicate otherwise.

Arya was silent for a moment. She looked back at the trees. "I think he was pushed."

I gulped, hoping with every fiber of my being she was wrong.

Before I could even think to respond, I saw a figure coming closer. As his large body neared, I realized it was the Hound, a fur cloak around his shoulders. His dark eyes met mine and I felt compelled to hold my stare. The right side of my mouth began to curl upwards without me realizing for a moment.

"Good day, Ser," I curtsied when he came closer.

"I'm no _Ser_ ," he grumbled. His voice was raspy and deep. He tore his eyes away from me and looked at Arya, who was nearly at eye-level with him. "Seven save yer brother, girl," he muttered out of obligation. Most of the Baratheons and Lannisters and their men had paid their respects. A certain prince had yet to, though…

Arya nodded in response, but didn't say a word.

"I never thanked you," I said, taking a step closer to the Hound. He towered above me. I felt so small when he finally looked down at me.

Despite how little he emoted, I noticed he seemed a little taken aback. "What for?"

"The night of the feast. You had my lute returned to me. It's my most prized possession," I babbled, suddenly unable to control my tongue. "I don't believe I could bear if something happened to it."

The Hound continued to stare at me, as if I were the first human being he had ever seen. I felt my face growing warmer with every second he examined me. I wished he would say something.

"What I mean to say is," I choked out, "thank you…for your kindness."

His lips were pressed together in a straight line. Two wrinkles cut deeply into his face and I couldn't imagine they were the results of smiling too much.

"You should be more careful with yer things," he said in a low voice. He nodded at Arya and then stepped past me, his cloak whipping at my skirt.

"What was _that_ about, Fallon?" Arya asked, a look of incredulity on her face.

"I don't-I don't know," I stuttered, clasping my hands together. I turned around, watching his large figure retreat.

* * *

 _Sandor Clegane could not have been happier to have been dismissed by the little cunt otherwise known as Joffrey. He found himself wandering outside of the keep. He didn't mind the cold—in fact, he embraced it. He was used to hot weather, which, when wearing heavy armor, was uncomfortable to say the least._

 _"Again, again, my dear."_

 _"As you wish, my lord."_

 _Sandor heard the plucking of a lute as he passed the training yard. He peeked around a corner and saw the Imp standing there. Seated on the front steps of a shop was the brown-haired handmaiden. The one who wasn't afraid to look into his eyes._

 _"_ And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low _," she sang._

 _She had a good voice, Sandor had thought to himself. Much better than most of the nances who played at the Red Keep._

 _"_ Only a cat of a different coat, that's all the truth I know. In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws. And mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours. And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord of Castamere. But now the rains weep o'er his hall, with no one there to hear. Yes, now the rains weep o'er his hall, and not a soul to hear _."_

 _"Just lovely," the Imp clapped._

 _"Many thanks, Lord Tyrion," the handmaiden bowed her head, a bashful smile on her face._

 _"And you say you're a handmaiden for the younger Stark girl?" the Imp asked, stepping closer to the brunette, resting his elbow on one of the steps._

 _"Aye," she nodded._

 _"Such a shame that your talents are…_ wasted _on cleaning chamber pots and braiding hair," the Imp crooned, reaching out and twirling a lock of her brown hair in his fingers._

 _Sandor wondered how long it would take before the Imp tried to take her to his bed._

 _"Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn allow me to play every now and again," the handmaiden said._

 _"Do you intend on coming to King's Landing with the Starks when we finally make our return?"_

 _"Aye, that was my intention. Arya needs me, whether she likes to admit it or not."_

 _"Perhaps I can put a good word in for you with the king."_

 _"A good word?"_

 _"We have plenty of handmaidens. Little Arya can take her pick. What we_ don't _have a lot of is musicians as_ beautiful _as they are talented," the Imp plucked her hand off the neck of her lute and held it to his chest._

 _"You're too kind, my lord," the woman smiled. "You honor me with such an offer, but the Starks have been good to me. My heart grows heavy at the thought of leaving Arya's side."_

 _"I must remind you that I_ am _a Lannister and as such have a vast fortune at my feet. What amount of money might light a coal under your feet?" the Imp reached into his pocket with his free hand, pulling out a small pouch. He jiggled it in the air, making the coins hit each other inside._

 _To her credit, the woman's eyes didn't leave the lord's. Sandor was surprised, and even a little impressed, that she wouldn't let the Imp bribe her into getting his way._

 _"I don't lament my position, Lord Tyrion," she said. "I love the girl as if she were mine."_

 _Sandor cocked an eyebrow. What was so special about the girl? He had barely experienced her, but from what he could tell, she was as wild as wild came. Rude, stubborn, impulsive. He remembered watching her fling stew at her pretty sister the night of the feast. The little bird had been less than pleased, shrieking about how the young wolf had a habit of ruining things._

 _He had also watched as the handmaiden stifled a laugh. She only took the girl away at the mother's insistence, passing him on their way out of the hall. She smiled at him, which had thrown him off at first. But he had been watching her most of the night, his eyes flickering over to her as she played and sang along with the other musicians. It was possible the smile had meant nothing—she was just a smiler._

 _Sandor still wondered why. Why she had smiled at him. Why she didn't seem afraid to make eye contact with him. Why she seemed so resistant to leave the wolf girl. Why she would rather stay with her than make a living doing the thing he assumed she loved most._

 _Why he even cared enough to ask any of these questions._

 _"Very well, dear Fallon," the Imp raised her hand to his lips, jolting Sandor out of his invasive thoughts. "But I will warn you, I shall request a song from you at dinner tonight. If the king and queen like what they hear, they may not give you a choice."_

 _She stood up and curtsied, her lute cradled to her chest. "My lord."_

 _Sandor turned on his heel as the Imp began walking away from the steps. But the dwarf had already seen him._

 _"Ah, dog," he called out to him._

 _Sandor stopped in his tracks and rolled his eyes. He turned again, staring down at the Imp as he approached him._

 _"What are you doing so far away from my_ beloved _nephew?" the Imp asked._

 _"The boy wanted time alone with the queen," Sandor told him._

 _The handmaiden stepped out from the corner and caught his eye. He watched as her cheeks darkened. Her gray-green eyes stayed locked on his and he wondered to himself for the umpteenth time how she could stand to look at him for so long. No other woman seemed to be able to. A rare bird, she was._

 _"Do you like what you see, Clegane?" the Imp smirked, gesturing to the handmaiden. "As if something so fine could ever love a_ hound _like you."_

 _Sandor glanced over at the handmaiden. She was looking over her shoulder, clutching the instrument in her hands tightly as she pretended not to listen. He looked back at the Imp, who was strutting his way past the large guard, a smug look on his face._

 _"Why do they call you that?"_

 _Sandor's eyes flashed to the young woman. She was staring at him again. He wished she would stop._

 _"Because that's what I am," he shrugged, sauntering closer to her, hoping to scare her off. It wasn't hard to do, normally. Most would scurry away if they had any brains. Some would be rooted to the spot, staring dumbly at him. "A_ dog _."_

 _"What do you wish to be called?" she asked, unperturbed by his figure closing in on her._

 _No one had ever asked him that. Not since the moniker had stuck. "The Hound will do, girl," he grumbled._

 _"I can't imagine you enjoy being called a dog," she said, her gaze fixed on him._

 _"Doesn't matter if I enjoy it or not," he growled._

 _His eyes searched for her revulsion, her fear, but ultimately came up empty on both fronts. The day before, when he found her with the wolf girl, she was nervous, rambling under his gaze. But even then, her eyes stayed on him. Now she had a bit more courage behind her words. Perhaps her meeting with the Imp had given her more confidence. She was surely confident enough to stare at him._

 _Needless to say, Sandor wasn't used to this kind of attention. People were either treating him like shite, backing away from him, or trying to kill him. This Fallon girl was engaging him in conversation. She seemed…interested in him. It made him less than comfortable._

 _"You refuse to be called Ser," she started._

 _"Fuck the knighthood," he interrupted, spitting onto the ground beside him. He hadn't meant to say that out loud in front of this girl he barely knew, but he couldn't help it._

 _"And I refuse to call you Hound," Fallon continued slowly, taking note of the derision he had just shown. "You must have a real name."_

 _Sandor sighed and turned around to walk away once more. This woman was relentless._

 _"Lord Tyrion called you Clegane."_

 _He stopped in his tracks._

 _"I accompanied Arya to one of her lessons a few years ago," she said. "I remember Maester Luwin telling her that's a knightly house in the Westerlands."_

 _He looked over his shoulder. She came up to his elbow and cocked an eyebrow up at him. No matter how nervous she was or not, words wouldn't stop pouring out of her mouth._

 _"If it'll make you shut up, my name is Sandor," he said, wondering why she was smiling at him so._

 _"Thank you,_ Sandor _," she dipped into a curtsy._

 _He felt a lump in his throat. He was uncomfortable with the amount of attention and respect the handmaiden was giving him. He was even more uncomfortable about how easily she got him to offer her information about him. So he left her standing there, shaking his head as he went._

* * *

I trudged through the winter town outside of the castle, having just gotten my lute re-strung. Since Lord Tyrion had said he was going to call upon me to sing for him before the king and queen, I figured I would make sure it was the best performance of my life. I had considered botching the job so I wouldn't be separated from Arya, but I worried what would happen to me if King Robert or Queen Cersei were unimpressed with my work. Would they have my tongue cut out? Chop off one of my hands so I could never play again? No, I couldn't risk that.

I found my dapple mare, Shevaun, and stroked her long face as I untied her reins from the post where she stood. I stepped to the side, putting my lute in the bag attached to her saddle. Shevaun nickered and I glanced over at a pile of hay nearby. I went to grab a small handful for my patient horse. I hoped I wouldn't be late for dinner. The sun was starting to set.

"And 'oo is this?"

I gulped, turning my head over my shoulder to give him a good look. He was a dirty, ugly man. He stumbled closer, taking a swig from his wineskin. The drink dribbled down his beard and trickled down onto his shirt. He reminded me of my father.

"Look at this lit'le gi'l, wand'rin' about all by 'er lonesome," said the man. "I can give yeh some company."

"I don't want any trouble," I said, slowly backing away. "My horse is right here. I'll just get on her and we can both move on."

"And why would yeh want that? The whores say I'm the best they've ever 'ad," he said, hiccupping. His clumsy feet started moving faster.

The hay fell from my hand and I turned to run to Shevaun. The man hurried after me, grabbing me from behind and slamming me face-first into a wooden post. My right cheek started throbbing in pain. I heard a loud whinny and the clopping of hooves retreating from the scene. Shevaun had galloped away.

"No more runnin, eh?" he slurred into my ear. He had both of my hands behind my back, one of his own reaching down to paw at my skirts. "And no screamin', else I'll 'ave yer guts fer garters."

I stomped on the man's foot and he screamed out, letting go of me. I elbowed him in the gut and reached down to grab the knife strapped to my leg. I pulled it out and turned around just as the man bellowed and struck me across the face. He caught me off-balance and I fell onto the hard ground, my knife flying from my hands. The man straddled my waist, putting his weight onto me. He wrapped his hands around my throat before I could gasp for breath.

"Yeh're a dumb cunt!" he roared, squeezing my throat.

I tried to muster up my strength to fight back when there was a large squelching sound and a blade pierced through the back of the man's head and out of his open mouth.


	4. Late For Dinner

**I closed my** eyes and snapped my head to the side to try and avoid the spray of warm blood as best I could. I felt the hands around my neck loosen before there were another couple of squelching sounds. The man's heavy body fell forward onto me and I froze, my mind taking me back to a time I had spent my life trying to forget.

I could feel the blood pouring out of both of his wounds and onto my face and torso, but not for long. The body was lifted off of me and fell to the ground beside me with a loud thud.

"Thought no man would take you unless you wanted him to."

With a wheeze, I opened my eyes and saw Benjen standing by the man, wiping his sword on the sleeve of the corpse's shirt. He looked down at me with a roguish smile. I took several deep breaths, staring up at my savior. His smile faltered as he examined my face. He sheathed his sword and then bent down to grab my knife lying not far from the corpse. He flipped it in the air, grasping it by the blade and pointing it down at me handle first.

I raised a hand and gingerly took it, holding it close to my chest. Benjen offered me a hand, lifting me from the ground. He kept his hand on mine and used his other to pull a piece of hay out of my hair.

"Are you alright, Fallon?" he asked quietly, looking into my eyes.

I took another deep breath and nodded. "Thank you," I muttered, bowing my head and sliding my hand from his grip.

"What were you doing out here by yourself?" he asked.

I gulped and felt tears start pricking in my eyes. I didn't want to cry at all, let alone in front of _Benjen Stark, First Ranger of the Night's Watch_. I looked away from him, afraid the tears would fall if I answered. I was trying to remain strong. Trying and failing.

His eyes stayed on me. Out of my peripheral vision I could see him unfastening his cloak. He wrapped the heavy sheet of black fabric around my shoulders and then put one of his gloved hands on my face. I winced as he touched where I had been slammed into the post.

"I'll have Maester Luwin look at this," he murmured.

"No," I shook my head and restored our eye contact. "I'm f-fine. I need to get back to Winterfell."

"You're hurt," Benjen said.

"I n-need to find Shevaun. She has my lute. I have to play tonight," I said, pulling the cloak closer around me and trying to step away from him. "F-For the King."

"You need to calm yourself down," Benjen grabbed my shoulders and kept me in front of him. "I'll get Essence of Nightshade from the maester as well."

"But Lord Tyrion said he'd ask me to si—"

"Lord Tyrion is likely drunk in the brothel right now," Benjen told me. "Put your knife away and come back with me. We'll give you a bath and put you to bed."

"But the song," I pleaded, my tears welling up in my eyes. "I have to."

" _Fallon_ ," Benjen shook me. "I will smooth everything over. You're in no shape to perform."

I gulped again and nodded. Benjen released my shoulders and watched as I bent down to reattach the knife to my leg under my skirt. He put his hand on my back and led me towards his brown horse. He climbed onto the saddle and reached down to help me sit in front of him.

"You're trembling," Benjen said in my ear as we made our way out of the winter town.

I clutched at the cloak, holding the dusty bottom of it over my lap to keep it out of the way. As I was sitting side-saddle, I reached one of my arms around Benjen's waist to hold myself steady. I fit my head under his chin and closed my eyes. Though I had long since moved past my feelings for the younger Stark man, I felt very safe with him.

* * *

 _Arya Stark paced in her room. She could feel Nymeria's eyes following her every step from where she lay before the fire. Fallon hadn't yet shown up to make sure she was washed up for dinner. The young girl had reluctantly scrubbed at the dirt under her fingernails herself, wondering where her handmaiden—no, her friend—was. It couldn't have taken her that long to get her lute re-strung, could it?_

 _There was a knock at the door and Arya ran to it, hoping she would find Fallon on the other side apologizing profusely, red-faced. She grasped at the knob and swung the door wide open. Her face fell when she only found Sansa._

 _"Arya, you're going to be late," her sister said in an accusatory tone._

 _"Fallon isn't here," Arya retorted. "I'm not leaving without her."_

 _"You_ must _," Sansa pressed._

 _"I can't and I won't. If she doesn't eat, then neither will I."_

 _"I don't_ care _whether your_ stupid _handmaiden eats or not."_

 _"Fallon isn't_ stupid _!" Arya replied fiercely, furrowing her brow._

 _"Clearly she is if she can't find her way to your room on time," Sansa shot back. "Septa Mordane says you_ must _come to dinner. The royal family are still here and we must receive them."_

 _"Septa Mordane and the royal family can—"_

 _There was a faint whinnying sound from outside of Arya's window. She could also hear a guard shouting about a horse without a rider. Arya ran to the window and looked down to see Fallon's mare, Shevaun. A guard was holding onto her reins, trying to calm her down._

 _Arya felt her heart drop. Something must have happened to Fallon on her way back from the winter town._

 _"You_ must _come to dinner, Arya," Sansa whined. "I'll tell father."_

 _The eleven year-old hitched up her skirts and whipped around. She ran to the door, shoving past her sister, and hurried down the stairs, passing various servants on her way. No one tried to stop her, no matter how much Sansa yelled._

 _Arya stepped outside into the cold air. The sun was almost entirely set and so the torches were getting lit outside. Arya scurried over to Shevaun, who was eating a carrot from the hand of the guard holding her reins. Arya slowed down and went to examine the mare. Arya couldn't find any signs of blood—a small consolation. Poking out of the saddlebag was Fallon's beloved lute._

 _"What happened, girl?" Arya asked, pressure setting on her chest as she patted the horse's neck._

 _"Arya! Arya Stark!"_

 _"It appears you're late for dinner, little lady," muttered the guard, cocking his head to the door Arya had just run out of. He bowed his head to her and led the horse back to the stable._

 _Septa Mordane had followed her outside, her face screwed up in anger. She clutched at her skirts, carefully stepping over the mud on the ground. Sansa appeared behind her, scowling at her younger sister._

 _"Arya Stark, you will hear about this from your father," Septa Mordane fumed, approaching the girl._

 _"I think Fallon's hurt!" Arya shouted. "She wouldn't run away! She wouldn't leave Shevaun! She wouldn't leave her lute! She wouldn't leave_ me _!"_

 _"Come along, Arya," the septa grasped Arya's wrist tightly, pulling her away from the horse._

 _"Let go of me!" Arya dug her heels into the ground and wrenched herself free. "I'm not leaving! We need to find her!"_

 _"Hush, child, you're making a fuss. As if you haven't embarrassed your family enough."_

 _Ned rushed out of the keep, followed by Jory Cassel, his Captain of the Guard. Ned didn't seem angry, instead appearing confused and concerned._

 _"What is the meaning of this?" he bellowed, striding over to his daughter. "Why are you yelling so?"_

 _King Robert stomped his way outside the door, his brows knitted together. Joffrey stepped out behind him as well with a shit-eating grin on his face. The Hound stood after the prince, staring intently at Arya._

 _Sansa turned her head and noticed the audience they were accruing. When she looked back at her sister, her face crumpled. "Come inside, Arya! You're embarrassing us!"_

 _"Silence," Ned glanced at his older daughter and then turned to get on one knee and grab Arya's arms. "What happened?"_

 _"Fallon is missing and all anyone cares about is that I'm late to dinner!" Arya cried._

 _"Worry not, sweet niece," called out a voice over the nearing clopping of hooves. "Your Uncle Benjen has found your lovely handmaiden."_

 _Arya whirled around and watched as Benjen and his horse came to a halt not far from where they stood. Seated before him, draped in his dirty black cloak, was Fallon. Arya felt her breath hitch as she noticed the darkness sprayed across the woman's stoic face._

 _Benjen dismounted from his horse and put his hands on Fallon's waist, easing her down from the animal. His hands lingered on her as he examined her shiny eyes. Then Fallon bowed her head and removed the cloak from her shoulders to hand it back to him as a squire stepped forward to lead his horse away. Arya could have sworn she saw bruises on Fallon's neck._

 _Behind Arya, Septa Mordane emitted a loud gasp. She shielded Sansa's eyes, fearing the girl would faint from the amount of blood staining the front of Fallon's dress. Arya searched for cuts, holes, tears in the fabric, but ultimately found nothing. The only wound she could place was the scrape on the right side of Fallon's face. Where had all of that blood come from?_

 _"Septa, send for Maester Luwin," Benjen called out, protectively wrapping an arm around the brunette's shoulders. "Fallon's had a rough night. She'll be needing some rest."_

 _Arya darted out before her father could snatch her and threw her arms around Fallon. The damp fabric of the handmaiden's dress squished under her touch and she knew that the blood was fresh. Fallon went rigid at first, but then her body relaxed and she patted Arya's back._

 _"You'll ruin your dress," Fallon said softly, stroking Arya's hair._

 _"I don't care," Arya looked up at her handmaiden. Even at her innocent age, she could tell that Fallon was struggling to keep up a façade. "What happened to you?"_

 _"A nasty man paid a nasty price," she said quietly, taking the young girl's cheeks in her quivering hands. Fallon furrowed her brow, examining the girl's face with her glassy eyes. "You're absolutely covered, sweet child. You'll be needing a bath as much as I do."_

 _"A skell in the town tried to take advantage of her. Luckily I was riding through on my way to supper," Benjen explained, looking at Ned. "Apologies, Your Grace," he bowed his head at Robert. "I'm afraid your song shall have to wait."_

 _"The bloody hell are you talking about?" Robert responded harshly. "I've never seen this girl in me life."_

 _"She said she had to come back and sing you a song at dinner tonight. Fought me for what seemed a fortnight over it," Benjen glanced at Fallon with a grin tugging at his lips._

 _"Like lady, like handmaiden," Ned muttered as he stood up, looking at his youngest daughter._

 _"Fallon? Fallon? My dear, are you alright?" Tyrion said, shoving his way past Joffrey and the Hound. "Who did this to you? Surely he'll be hanged."_

 _"He's been punished," Benjen squeezed Fallon's shoulders as the halfman came closer. "Lord Tyrion, what's this she was telling me about a song?"_

 _"I overheard her singing today. I told her I would request a song before the king and queen as we dined. Her voice is quite lovely—I knew they would enjoy it," Tyrion frowned. "Perhaps another night."_

 _"Perhaps," Benjen echoed. "Ah, here comes Maester Luwin now."_

 _Arya felt him tap her on the arm and she let go. Benjen led Fallon away, leaving Arya standing by herself. Arya turned herself around and noticed how everyone's eyes were on her small figure. Well,_ nearly _everyone's. Standing just outside the door that led into the keep, just behind Prince Joffrey, the Hound's gaze followed her trusted handmaiden's retreating body._

 _"Arya, go to your chamber," Ned ordered. "Wash up. Food will be sent to you."_

 _"What about—?"_

 _"Fallon will eat when Fallon is ready to eat," Ned raised a hand to interrupt his daughter. He raised it higher when he saw her mouth open to protest. "Now."_

 _Arya heaved a sigh and slowly made her way into the keep. As she went on her way, she could hear her father apologizing to the king for the disturbance. She glanced over her shoulder one more time and watched as Joffrey went back through the door from whence he came. The Hound stood vigil, however, watching as Fallon and Benjen disappeared with Maester Luwin._

* * *

 **Bet you all thought Sandor was going to be the one who saved Fallon, didn't you? (Muahaha)**

 **Thank you all for the lovely reviews! I hope this chapter is to your liking! Sorry there wasn't a lot of Sandor in this installment. I had initially planned for him to be in it a little more, I just figured this was a good place for the chapter to end as I was writing it. Worry not, though, he'll have more time in the sun, haha**

 **January 10, 2019: I edited a few minor things that were bothering me. Nothing too important, just little things**


	5. A Bit Old

**_"Yer 'air's gettin'_** _too long, girl. C'mere an' I'll cut it. There, girl, much better. Papa likes it when yer 'air is short."_

I woke up in a cold sweat. I had thrashed so much that my blankets lay askew at the foot of my bed. One of the last things I remembered from the night before was Maester Luwin pouring three drops of Essence of Nightshade into a goblet of wine and giving it to me.

It was supposed to ensure a dreamless sleep, but it must have worn off at some point in the night, as I had woken up with my father's voice in my head. Perhaps I had built a tolerance to the medicine, having taken it many nights when I first came to Winterfell. I would have terrible nightmares, waking nearly everyone up in the middle of the night with my screams. One of my scant few memories of Lyanna Stark was her begging Luwin to do something more to help me when she couldn't.

 _"Papa likes it when yer 'air is short."_

I sat up and drew my knees to my chest, shaking my head to get my father's raspy voice out of it. I grabbed a thick strand of my chestnut brown hair, stroking down the length of it. I had grown my hair down to my waist, not much longer than Lady Catelyn's. However, I didn't grow it for style or as a status symbol. It was like armor to me. If my hair was long, my father couldn't touch me, or so I had convinced myself as a child.

The door to my room slowly creaked open, letting in a ray of light. I grabbed a stray blanket and covered my nightgown-clad body to maintain my modesty as best I could.

"Who's there?" I asked, my voice groggy from sleep.

"It's just me," Arya whispered, poking her head in. "I've been checking in on you all morning."

"You're sweet, child," I smiled at the girl.

"No, I'm not," she wrinkled her nose.

"Right, right, my apologies," I murmured with a grin.

I looked over to the scribe desk in the corner of my room. My lute sat atop it and I was thankful that it had escaped my ordeal unscathed. I wondered who had made sure to return it to my room. Only the Seven knew why my insides felt fuzzy at the memory of _Sandor Clegane_ asking Jon to bring it to my room the night of the feast. I doubted it had happened again, but part of me liked the idea of it.

"Father said to take you to the kitchens when you're ready to eat," she said, coming into the room. The girl crossed the floor and pulled the shades open, revealing the sun to me. It must have been midday. "He also said you're relieved of your duties for today."

"Then who's to keep the likes of _you_ in line?" I smirked at Arya.

"Septa Mordane's been on my arse since dawn broke this morning," she rolled her eyes, sitting on the edge of my bed.

"How cruelly you've been punished, little lady," I crooned facetiously, flattening a hair onto Arya's head. "How ever shall you go on?"

"She wouldn't let me go outside to watch Robb and Jon spar," the girl scowled.

"Poor child. Perhaps I can steal you away for a walk after I eat," I winked, rubbing my stomach as it growled. "For my _recovery_ , of course."

* * *

"Uncle Benjen saved your life, then?" Arya asked as we wandered outside of the keep. Nymeria was padding before us. The gray and white pup seemed to grow every day.

"Aye, he did," I sighed, clasping my hands together behind my back.

"He said a skell tried to take advantage of you. Why didn't you fight him back?"

"I tried."

"But he was stronger than you?"

"He was _heavier_ than me," I gulped, remembering the weight of the man. "Let's go to the stable. I would love to see Shevaun and make sure she's alright."

Arya nodded silently, watching as her wolf chased after a small bird that had landed on the dirt not far away. I was glad the girl had stopped asking me questions about the night before. I wanted to move on and forget it had even happened. I had felt so embarrassed when Benjen and I returned to Winterfell. It seemed there was more of an audience for us in those few moments than for any performance I ever put on before arriving up north. Even the bloody _king_ hobbled his drunken arse out of the kitchens to see the hubbub.

I could have sworn I had seen Sandor that night as well, standing behind Prince Joffrey, of course. I was convinced he only appeared as per his guard duty. Based on my limited interactions with him, I didn't get much of an inclination that he enjoyed my company. Seven hells, I had to bother him into giving me his _birthname_.

But then why did I have a habit of catching him staring at me?

"Was it the Imp—er, Tyrion's fault that it happened?" Arya piped up as we entered the stable.

I felt pressure sitting on my chest. "No, little lady, it was no one's fault but the man who tried to hurt me."

"But you wouldn't have gone in to town if he hadn't made you," she argued.

"I went of my own volition," I told her. "I was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Arya chewed on her lower lip. She glanced up at me and I looked down at her, hoping to translate through my eyes that I didn't want to talk about the night prior anymore. It must have worked because she kept mum.

"Ah, there you are, girl," I murmured, coming up on a stall that encased my dear mare. Shevaun nickered, pressing her face to mine. I stroked under her jaw. "I'm terribly sorry I gave you such a fright. Thank you for keeping my lute safe."

"Fallon, look how big this one is," Arya gasped. She stepped to the other side of me and approached a tall black stallion, which looked very familiar to me. "Must belong to a giant."

I smirked at the slight wonder behind her words. Sometimes I forgot she was still a child. I turned my attention back to my mare and combed my fingers through her mane. I could hear the stallion stomping one of his hooves—he did not seem happy at all. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Arya slowly reaching a hand up. Before I could even think to say anything, the stallion tried to bite the young girl. Luckily, she had excellent reflexes and jumped back, her arms at her sides.

"Save yerself some trouble, girl, and keep away from Stranger."

I turned my head to the entrance of the stable. I watched as Sandor ducked his head on his way inside. Dangling from one of his enormous hands were several radishes.

"I wasn't going to hurt him," Arya replied defensively, standing at my side.

Sandor ignored her, striding closer. His dark eyes were focused on mine, and mine on his. As he neared us, he slowed his gait. I could feel him examining my face. I had looked in a mirror that morning and found that a dark bruise surrounded the scrapes on my cheek and forehead. My neck was also marked by the skell's attempted strangulation, but that was easy enough to cover up. I had tried to brush all of my hair over my right shoulder to divert attention from the facial wounds, to no avail.

"It's nothing," I said sheepishly, gesturing up to my cheek. _You would know_ , I thought, but controlled myself from saying out loud. "Maester Luwin gave me ointment for it. Should be gone before you know."

Sandor heaved a great sigh and I worried that what I had said was insensitive to him. I opened my mouth to apologize, which he saw coming because he raised a hand to silence me. He stepped past me, looked down at Arya, then approached the black stallion. I watched as he scratched at Stranger's jaw.

The horse was calm, even a bit affectionate, to his owner. Arya exchanged glances with me and rolled her eyes, no doubt wondering what _The Hound_ had that she didn't. I snickered at her facial expression, still petting Shevaun.

Sandor took one of his radishes and fed it to the horse, who gratefully ate it. I saw the man's mouth moving, but I couldn't hear what he muttered to the horse. He took another radish and, without looking away from his stallion, extended his arm to give it to me.

"Thank you," I said, taking the root from his ungloved hand. One of my fingers accidentally bumped into his and I felt the fuzzy feeling inside of me again. I kept my eyes on him as I fed Shevaun the radish.

"Oi, Dog," called a voice from the entrance. I looked over my shoulder and saw a man in kingsguard armor, save for his helm. He had dark hair on his head and face, dark eyes, and two arched eyebrows.

"The hell do you need, Trant?" Sandor asked disinterestedly. He didn't look away from Stranger for a second.

"The king wants to go on another hunt," the guard sauntered forward. "Said he needs his best _Hound_."

I sucked on my bottom lip, not liking the grin on the guard's face as he came closer. He probably thought he was so clever.

"My, aren't you a pretty one?" Trant smirked at me.

I felt a lump in my throat and faced my horse. Arya grabbed my elbow—not because she was scared, but because she was trying to let me know I was going to be okay. I noticed Sandor snap his head towards the guard. He looked somewhere between annoyed and angry.

"She's a bit old for you, isn't she, Meryn?" Sandor asked, keeping an even tone.

Recognizing some of the innuendo, I felt the lump in my throat get larger. The guard scowled at the man at the stall next to me. I looked at Sandor and he fed Stranger his last radish before stepping out around me. He made it a point to nudge Arya closer behind me. It was at this point that I realized this knight had a preference, and my charge fit the bill. I reached a hand out behind me protectively and grabbed Arya's arm.

Sandor glanced over his shoulder and caught my eye. "Leave," he grunted.

I nodded and kept a firm hold on Arya as she and I walked past the two men. I tried to keep her as far away from the shorter guard as possible, but it seemed he was more focused on coming up with a retort to the comment than stopping us.

"And how much do you have to pay for her to look at you without vomiting?" Trant sneered, cocking his head in my direction. "Filthy dog."

"You forget, Trant. I could snap yer neck before yeh even knew what was happening," Sandor growled in the distance.

"Does that man think you're a whore?" Arya asked as soon as we left the stable.

"Arya Stark!" yelled out the unmistakable voice of Septa Mordane from up above. I craned my neck and saw that she had stuck her head out of a window in the castle.

The young girl groaned beside me. I smirked down at her.

"Come to your needlepoint lesson at once!" the woman hollered.

"Best not make her any more upset," I murmured to Arya. She looked up at me with a _do-I-have-to?_ look. I tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. "G'wan."

I watched as Arya scampered off and smiled to myself. I hoped that Lord Tyrion would forget about his plan to make me a court musician. I had stayed by the girl's side since she was a babe. I helped her learn how to walk. I held her until she fell back asleep on nights when she had bad dreams. I had long hoped to serve her until she was inevitably married off to some other lord's son, and then hopefully even after.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I continued walking by my lonesome around the training yard. Little Rickon was chasing around his black direwolf, Shaggydog, giggling as he nearly ran me over. I found Robb and Benjen watching over Jon as he practiced his sword work on a dummy. I stood at the pen and watched them, until I heard footsteps coming up beside me. A hand clasped onto the pen and I looked up to find Theon.

"I 'eard you 'ad a rough night," he said, leaning his back against the pen.

"I'd rather not talk about it, thank you very much," I sighed.

"You should be more careful," he ignored me. "This never would've 'appened if I were there."

I rolled my eyes. "You're right. That man would have had _you_ flat on your back with his hands on your throat if you were there." Before he even processed what I said, I turned on my heel and walked away with a smirk tugging at one corner of my lip.

"'ey!" he shouted out behind me.

I suppressed a chuckle and went about my way. As I headed for the doorway back into the castle, I looked over my shoulder and saw the guard, Trant, limping away from the stable, wiping a drop of blood from his split lip. He was followed by Sandor, who didn't have a mark on him. I smiled to myself and walked inside.

* * *

 **I hope you guys enjoy this! The next chapter was intended to be part of this one, but as I was reading over it, they felt like two separate parts, so I decided to split them up. The next chapter should be completed and posted soon. Sorry for the wait!**


	6. Stones

**"** ** _Yes, now the_** _rains weep o'er his hall, and not a soul to hear_ ," I finished, dipping into a curtsy with my lute to my chest. My ears were met with applause and when I stood back up, I could see smiles on the faces of most of my audience. The queen and her oldest child seemed less than thrilled. Sansa was clearly trying her hardest to fake even the smallest smile. She was about as fond of me as I was of her.

"Excellent, my dear," Tyrion called out. As he had promised he eventually would, he asked me to sing for the royal family that night at dinner. "Simply excellent."

I beamed at the two high tables. Ned, Catelyn, Robert, Cersei, Jaime, and Tyrion were at one. Robb, Sansa, Arya, Rickon, Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen—the other Baratheon children—all sat at the other. Sandor stood against the wall, where he stayed the night of the feast. He stared at me, completely void of expression. Meanwhile, Benjen stood on the other side, leaning against the wall, grinning ear-to-ear.

"What's yer name, girl?" Robert asked.

"Fallon, Your Grace," I bowed my head.

"Is that it? No surname? Just Fallon?"

"Aye, Your Grace. Just Fallon," I gulped. I could feel Cersei's eyes growing colder.

"A handmaiden with no surname," she said with a tinge of poison in her voice. "My _little_ brother is so enchanted by her, he would like for us to give her a position at the castle. Perhaps she'd be better suited in the kitchens, given her standing. The Starks have been quite generous, allowing her to take care of their daughter, haven't they, my sweet?"

I pursed my lips and inhaled sharply through my nose. I had hoped they'd at least allow me to stay on as Arya's handmaiden in King's Landing if they weren't as impressed with my performance.

"Silence," Robert grunted at his wife. He turned back to me. "You've a lovely voice, _Just Fallon_ ," he said, giving me a knowing smirk.

"Many thanks, Your Grace," I nodded.

"I don't have as much an interest in such _dirges_ , as my family by law does," the king told me. "Do you know 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair'?"

My eyes flickered over to Catelyn. She found that song too distasteful and preferred it not to be sung in her presence. I understood, as it was quite vulgar. She gave me a tight-lipped look and nodded.

"I do, Your Grace."

"What are you waiting for, then? Play it, girl."

" _From there, to here. From here! To there! All black and brown and covered in hair! He smelled that girl on the summer air! The bear! The bear! The maiden fair!_ " I began, plucking at my lute. I felt a bit uncomfortable singing such a ribald song in the presence of children, but the king had requested it, so what else was I to do? " _Oh, I'm a maid, and I'm pure and fair! I'll never dance with a hairy bear! I called a knight, but you're a bear! All black and brown and covered in hair!_ "

From what I could tell, Cersei was displeased with the song. I wasn't entirely sure if it was solely because of the song's content or if it was also because she heard it so often—Ned had once told me it was Robert's favorite.

" _He lifted her high in the air! He sniffed and roared and he smelled her there! She kicked and wailed, the maid so fair! He licked the honey all up in her hair! From there to here. From here! To there! All black and brown and covered in hair! He smelled that girl on the summer air! The bear! The bear! The maiden fair!_ "

Robert's ruddy face cracked open into a smile as I sang. He drank from his horn of ale and slapped the tabletop with his meaty hand along to the beat. I felt a little less uncomfortable and more encouraged to continue.

" _And the bear, the bear! The maiden fair! And the bear, the bear!_ "

Arya caught my eye and I watched her start clapping her hands along. Beside her, Sansa was glaring at her. I could see her lips move and I imagined she was telling her sister to stop.

" _She sighed and she squealed and she kicked the air! Then she sang: My bear! My bear so fair! And off they went into the summer air! The bear, the bear, and the maiden fair! From there to here. From here! To there! All black and brown and covered in hair! He smelled that girl on the summer air! The bear! The bear! The maiden fair!_ "

Robb was smirking at me from his seat. I noticed his foot tapping along to the song. I nodded my head to him and gave him a smile.

" _And the bear, the bear! The maiden fair! And the bear, the bear! The maiden fair! And the bear, the bear!_ " I finished with a flourish on my lute.

"That's more like it, isn't it?" Robert cheered, clapping his hands together loudly as I curtsied once more. "'All black and brown and covered in hair'—reminds me of meself." He let out his sharp wheeze of a laugh.

As I stood, I saw Cersei grimace at her husband's statement. She and Robert were an odd couple if ever there was one. So different they were, with no apparent love between them. I wondered how Cersei had managed to provide him with three children as beautiful and blonde as she and her twin brother.

"I think, Just Fallon," Robert took another gulp from his horn, "that this settles it. You shall join us in King's Landing and perform with our court musicians."

I breathed a sigh of relief that I was not to be relocated to kitchen work. But my heart felt heavy as I caught Arya's eye once again. Her smile had faded into a frown. I tore my eyes from her and looked at the king.

"I'm honored, Your Grace," I bowed my head. "But may I make a request?"

The room suddenly felt thick with tension. Cersei's eyebrows shot up. She was about to interject when Robert raised a hand to stop her.

"You may ask," he said.

"As I have mentioned to Lord Tyrion, I am quite attached to Lady Arya, and she to me," I said carefully. "Would it be too much of me to ask for a compromise? Could I spend part of my days tending to my charge and the other part playing whenever and wherever you wish?"

Robert was silent for a moment. I could feel a lump growing in my throat. Cersei appeared to be hiding her rage, but her eyes were shooting daggers into me. Ned and Catelyn were looking at the king in anticipation, as if worried for my sake that he would be upset with my request. Arya was crossing her fingers with her eyes clamped shut, muttering something to herself. Tyrion's eyes were fixed on me. He was tapping the table with his stubby fingers.

And against one of the walls, a pair of dark eyes were lingering on my face. I looked to my left and saw Sandor with a smirk on his scarred face. I wondered why he was giving me that look.

"You have a lot of nerve questioning your king's decisions, _handmaiden_ ," Cersei said.

"Quiet, woman," Robert slammed his hand on the table and scowled at his wife. He looked back at me with a softer face. "Yeh're very talented, girl. Very beautiful. And yer very lucky I'm in as good a mood as I am.

"Considering the ruckus yer little lady caused the other night over your disappearance, I think it's clear to see the two of you have a bond I didn't even have with me best dog," Robert continued. "'Twould be cruel to separate you. And I'm not a cruel king, now, am I?"

The look on Cersei's face showed that she begged to differ.

"Of course not, Your Grace," I bowed my head again.

"I'll allow you to stay on as her handmaiden, when I don't need you, until the girl reaches her thirteenth nameday. That ought to be more than enough time to say yer goodbyes," Robert gave me another knowing look.

"I cannot thank you enough, Your Grace," I curtsied again, unable to control the smile on my face. I looked over to Arya, who was overjoyed.

"You're very lucky," Cersei added, "to live in a kingdom ruled by such a charitable man. I wouldn't have extended such kindness."

"Come now, Cersei. She does play quite well. Father would love to hear her rendition of 'Castamere', I imagine," said Jaime. I was surprised that he came to my defense.

Cersei didn't say another word. I imagined her twin brother's words held more credence to her than those of her husband. She took a sip from her goblet and leaned back in her seat.

* * *

I sat in the kitchen later that night, dipping chunks of bread into my stew and eating them by myself. I had just put Arya to bed when I realized that in all of the excitement at the royal family's dinner, I had forgotten to eat, myself.

I didn't mind eating alone, though. I liked having a moment to collect my thoughts, a moment without 'my lady's and 'Your Grace's, a moment without Theon Greyjoy making innuendos.

The door to the kitchen opened suddenly and I looked up to see a familiar heavily armored man ducking in sloppily. His eyes met mine and I nodded at him, a smile creeping onto my face.

"Seven blessings, Sandor," I said quietly.

He cocked his good eyebrow at me and grabbed a bowl. He stepped over to the vat of remaining stew and filled as much of it into the bowl as he possibly could. He grabbed a hunk of bread and sat across the table from me. Even though we were both sitting, he still towered over me.

"Yeh've got stones, girl," he said, dunking his bread into his stew just as I was. "More than most of the pricks roaming about the castle with their lutes and harps and drums."

"Do I?" I cocked my head.

"Not many would haggle with the king," he said gruffly. "But I suppose not many have a face like yers to fall back on, either."

My eyebrows perked up. I wondered what he meant by that. He smelled of stale wine and his deep voice slurred a bit. Clearly his tongue was a bit looser than normal. I couldn't imagine how much it would take for him to get absolutely drunk, what with his stature.

"I didn't think it was that unreasonable of a request," I shrugged.

"'Haps not to yer Wolf lord. King's a different story," Sandor said through a mouthful of food. "Like the queen said, yeh got lucky. Only not because the king's 'charitable'. He didn't agree with yer terms out of the bloody goodness of his heart."

"Are you saying I only got my way because the king is _fond_ of me?" I asked playfully.

"I'm saying you only got yer way because the king wants to _fuck_ you."

I emitted a nervous laugh. "I certainly hope not. I don't want to give the queen another reason to hate me."

"Doesn't take much to incur her wrath," Sandor raised the bowl to his lips and slurped the rest of the stew. "It's been a long time since winter, but I don't think I'll have to remind a Northerner not to tread on thin ice."

"I haven't always lived in the North," I hummed, watching him stand to get another bowl of stew and hunk of bread.

Whether he heard me or not, he didn't say anything. Sandor sat back across from me and continued eating. His bloodshot eyes stayed on me as I finished my own bowl with my last piece of bread.

"What's so special about her?" he asked.

"Pardon?"

"The Stark girl. Why the fuck can't you stand the idea of leaving her?"

I gulped and played with the tip of a strand of my hair. I was shocked at how much he was talking to me, inebriated or not. In our past few meetings, he was never much of a talker. I had to fumble my way through to get any information from him. And now he was asking me questions. It felt strange, but in a good way.

"When I was very young, working as a servant in here in Winterfell, I used to have nightmares. I would scream to high heaven, begging for my mother," I started.

"She dead?" Sandor looked at me.

"Aye," I gave him a bitter smile. "I was far from home, far from my father."

" _He_ dead?"

"I have no way of knowing," I shivered, touching my hair. "Anyway, for the first fortnight I stayed here, Lyanna Stark would come into my chamber and she would hold me in her arms until I fell back asleep. But the nightmares continued and I had to start drinking Essence of Nightshade until I was older and the nightmares became few and far between.

"After Arya was born, Lady Catelyn would ask me to play for the babe until she fell asleep. I was not much older than the little lady is now," I added, playing with my fingernails. "Even as a babe, she took a shine to me. She would smile any time I entered the room. Catelyn would ask me to help her when Arya fussed. And when she grew, Catelyn asked for me to serve as her personal handmaiden, and to help keep her out of trouble. I do what I can with that girl, but somehow I can't stop her from sewing sheep shit into her sister's bed."

Sandor cocked his brow. He must not have expected to hear me speak in such a way. I saw the corner of his mouth twitch, as if he were pleasantly surprised.

"As most young children do, she would have the occasional bad dream. She would barge into my chamber and wake me up to tell me about them—dragons attacking Westeros, her family dying violent deaths, things of that ilk. And I would think back to sweet Lyanna and how kind she was to me. So I would hold little Arya and remind her of how brave she was. I would tell her that she was tougher than those dragons, tougher than whoever dared kill her family in her dreams."

"'Sat why she's so wild?" Sandor asked, finishing off his second bowl.

"Maybe," I snickered. "She's always been more Stark than Tully, though. Looks just like her aunt, may she rest in peace."

Sandor wiped his mouth clean with the back of his massive hand. He stared at me, not saying anything. His unreadable gaze was so powerful to me that I felt like the smallest creature known to man. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. I was about to stand up and leave when he finally spoke.

"The boy. Has he woken?" Sandor asked.

"Bran? No, not as of yet," I shook my head. "Lady Catelyn rarely leaves his side, fearing he might wake up alone. Old Nan, one of the oldest servants here, sits with him when Catelyn cannot. Like tonight, when she joined your employers for dinner."

"Pft, my _employers_ ," Sandor rolled his eyes and pulled out his wineskin to take a drink.

"Your, erm, charge has not yet offered his sympathies to the family," I pointed out.

"And I doubt he ever will," Sandor bounced his good brow. "Little cunt cares for no one but himself."

"And _you_ care?" I asked with a smirk, remembering the day Arya and I encountered him in the training yard. Sandor gave me a look that showed he was not amused. "I heard King Robert plans to join his house with the Starks' by arranging a marriage between Sansa and that _little cunt_."

Sandor's brow twitched and he took another drink from his wineskin. He muttered something about a little bird needing all the help she can get before standing up from the table and leaving me alone in the kitchen.

As I watched his figure retreat, I felt a warmth spread throughout my body. Sandor Clegane had some sort of effect on me. I couldn't quite figure it out, but I vowed to myself that someday I would.


	7. The Kingsroad

**Knowing how warm** summer in King's Landing was, I tried to pack the lightest dresses I owned. I could hear Arya faintly calling for her wolf to bring her things in the next room over as she packed her own bags. We were riding south later that morning and I was feeling a mix of emotions.

I was excited for the change in scenery, even though I had fallen in love with the North in my almost two decades living up there. The only King's Landing I had ever known was Flea Bottom. I'd had a few glimpses of the Red Keep in my youth, but to me it was just a very large, shiny house. My mother would lift me up onto her shoulder and tell me that a family of dragons lived in the castle. I had taken her literally at the time, not realizing until long after I had escaped Flea Bottom that she was talking about the Targaryens.

Once I had finished packing, I took my bags and set them outside of my door, where they would be picked up by another servant and taken to the carriage. I was a bit apprehensive at the idea of someone else handling my lute, but I trusted the servants of Winterfell. Looking up from my luggage, I saw Jon Snow coming down the way, two swords sheathed in his belt.

"Fallon," he nodded at me and slowed down.

"Good day, Jon," I smiled. "I heard this might be a long goodbye."

"You're traveling south," he said.

"And you're traveling north," I pointed out. "My sources tell me you're to take the black."

Benjen had been recruiting men to the Night's Watch while staying at Winterfell. He had told me about a fortnight ago that Jon had practically begged him to take him to the Wall.

"I am," he nodded solemnly.

"Gods be with you," I said. "We need good, strong men like you to protect us."

I could see Jon clench his jaw and I wondered if what I had said had bothered him. I didn't mean it sarcastically. Perhaps someone had said something along the lines of that to him.

"Is my sister in there?" he asked quietly. "I've got a gift for her."

"Please tell me it isn't that extra sword you've got there," I glanced down at his belt again. When my eyes met Jon's, I could see the hint of a sheepish smile on his face. "I saw nothing," I added, tapping the side of my nose.

* * *

"Bran still hasn't woken up," Arya reported to me in a somber tone. She had just gone to visit him and say goodbye to her mother while I waited in the corridor.

"Terribly sorry, sweet child," I said, squeezing her shoulder as we started walking away from the door to Bran's room.

"I still don't think he just fell," she mumbled.

I was about to respond when the door opened behind us.

"Fallon. A word," came the tearful voice of Catelyn Stark. I turned around and saw her head poking out of the doorway.

"Of course, my lady," I bowed my head and came forward.

"Keep her safe from trouble," Catelyn whispered, grabbing my hands in hers.

"I will," I offered her a smile.

"You always do, I know," she laughed bitterly. "The gods know she listens to _you_."

"Most of the time," I grinned, squeezing her hands.

"There are evil people in this world, Fallon. Cruel, evil people."

"Aye, my lady, there are," I gulped. "I'd rather die than let them get their hands on Arya. But I wouldn't worry so—she can take care of herself. Very independent, that child of yours."

Catelyn stared at me with glassy eyes. She was silent for a moment. Then she unexpectedly pulled me into a hug. "This is goodbye, Fallon," she said before she stepped back, her hands on my elbows. "I thank you for your service to our family, to my daughter."

"And I thank you for your kindness over the years," I told her. "You helped make Winterfell just as much my home as yours. It's been the only true home I've ever known."

"Sweet Fallon," she put a hand on my cheek. "I shall always keep you in my prayers."

"And I you," I bowed my head once more and walked away.

I returned to Arya's side and we began our trek through the castle. Arya had wanted to take one last look around and say farewell to her home. We wandered through the halls, the chambers, even the kitchens, no words escaping our lips as we savored our moments in Winterfell. I couldn't even hazard a guess when the next time Arya would be up north, or if she ever would be. And I knew myself that this would likely be the last time I would be here.

We found Sansa on our way outside. She was crouched down against one of the castle walls, consoling Rickon, who was crying as he hugged his oldest sister. Sansa looked over his curls and caught a glance at the two of us. She murmured something in Rickon's ear and the boy turned his head, wiping his tears with his hand.

"Arya," he reached out his other hand toward my charge.

"G'wan," I elbowed Arya, cocking my head towards the boy.

With a sigh, Arya nodded and approached him. I stepped past the Starks and waited for the girl to come meet me outside. I watched as Arya let Rickon wrap his arms around her waist. She patted his back and gave him a crooked smile.

"You know, we 'ave enough time," whispered a familiar voice in my ear.

I rolled my eyes, turning my head to see Theon standing at my elbow, a smirk on his face. "You're that quick, eh?"

His face fell and I could tell he wasn't amused. "You don't, er, know what you're missing," he said, struggling to keep up his lothario persona.

With a grin, I grabbed the back of his head and pulled it down so I could plant a kiss on his forehead. When I let go, I could see color rising to his cheeks.

"It's been nice to know you, Theon," I patted his shoulder. "For the most part."

"You'll, er, you'll regret not taking me up while you 'ave me," he said, barely able to make eye contact.

"I don't think I will," I whispered, giving him a wink. "Save that piece of yours for someone who deserves it."

A faint smile crept onto his face. He held out a hand and I allowed him to take mine and kiss my knuckles. "Be safe down there, Fallon. I don't want to 'ave to ride down and save you from any dragons keeping you locked up in a tower."

I snickered and squeezed his hand one last time, watching as he turned and walked off. I always knew he was a good person underneath his bravado. He was a lost boy, taken away from his family at a young age, raised by another. I could only imagine the identity crisis the boy had been facing his entire life. Perhaps that was why he had made such a reputation for himself.

Feeling like someone was staring at me, my eyes flicked to my other side and I saw Sandor standing with some of the Baratheon knights. I smiled at him and lifted a hand to wave. I hadn't gotten much of a chance to speak with him ever since the night we spoke in the kitchen. If anything, I would pass him outside and say hello, to which he would nod back—and sometimes he wouldn't even give me that much. So hard to read, he was.

" _Oof_!" I grunted, feeling a small body run into my back at a high speed. I looked down at my middle and saw a pair of short arms wrapping themselves around me. I glanced back at Sandor and noticed that he had seen the whole thing. I gave him a sheepish grin and turned around to face Rickon.

"Everyone is leaving!" he cried.

"Dry your tears, little lord," I said, crouching down before him. I held his face in my hands and used my thumbs to wipe them away. "Just think of _aaaaall_ the space you'll have to yourself while we're gone."

"When is everyone coming back?" he asked.

I gulped, the question weighing heavily on my chest. "I can't say for certain, child. But know that just because we aren't right here," I pointed to the ground, "doesn't mean we're not right _here_ ," I then put a hand over his heart.

Rickon looked down at the front of his shirt and put his hands over mine. I offered him a smile and he tried to mirror me, his eyes shining with tears. I pulled him into my arms and felt him hug me back.

"Keep an eye on your mother and your brothers for me," I said after I released him.

He nodded and ran back to his sisters. I stood up, feeling a little emotional myself. And when I turned around, Sandor was still staring at me. I met his eyes again, but before I could even think to do anything else, Benjen Stark's figure appeared beside me.

"You'd be excellent," he said, cocking his head towards Rickon.

"Hmm?" I furrowed my brow.

"Motherhood," Benjen specified. "You'd do well having children."

"At this point, I feel like I've already _had_ children," I bounced my eyebrows. "Just without all the mess."

Benjen grimaced and shook his head, looking away for a moment. He sighed and looked back down at me, grabbing both of my hands. "Gods be with you, Fallon. I do so hope we shall see each other again."

"As do I, _First Ranger_ ," I nodded solemnly, hating that I had to say all of these goodbyes this day. "As do I."

* * *

I looked over my shoulder as I rode Shevaun. Our parties were splitting at a waypost. Lord Tyrion was going with Benjen to the Wall, as Tyrion possessed a desire to relieve himself off the edge of it. I watched as Ned paused at the fork with Jon by his side. After they shared a few words, Ned turned and galloped forward, slowing down at my side.

"How come you're not in the carriage with the rest of them?" he asked.

"The king said I could bring my horse along with me to King's Landing," I said. "Shevaun's a delicate thing, I don't quite think she'd like one of these soldiers riding her."

"And who's to keep my daughters from clawing each other's eyes out?" he asked with a grin. I always appreciated the rare moments Ned Stark's sense of humor came out to play.

"Septa Mordane is more than capable of keeping both of your daughters in line," I snickered. "I imagine she's making them practice their needlepoint on the road. She's always been better with the ladylike things, anyway."

"Must be why Arya resents her so much," Ned nodded. "Must be why she loves _you_ so much."

"What do you mean?" I cocked an eyebrow.

"When you first came to Winterfell, you were a wild little thing, yes?" he looked at me.

"Aye," I said sheepishly. "You can take the girl out of Flea Bottom, but you can't take the Flea Bottom out of the girl."

"You were just a wild little girl with not a care in the world for anything but your music. It's why Lyanna loved you so much. She saw how little you enjoyed wearing dresses and she empathized. She asked our father to make you our ward, rather than a simple servant. He made a compromise of sorts. That's why he allowed you to have lessons, you know—because of Lyanna."

"I miss her," I whispered.

"I miss her too," he nodded.

"I see a lot of her in Arya," I glanced at the carriage up ahead that the Stark girls were sitting in.

"Mm," Ned looked at the carriage as well. "More and more every day."

* * *

I slid off Shevaun and tied her reins to a nearby post. We had stopped for the day at the Crossroads Inn in the Riverlands. We had been traveling for many days and I loved taking any opportunity I had to stretch out my legs.

At first, whenever we made camp, Arya would latch onto me, complaining about her sister and Septa Mordane. But after a few days, she would spend a little less time with me, instead running around with the royal family's butcher's son, a redheaded boy named Mycah.

I caught a glimpse of her sneaking off with him. Instead of following them, I merely chuckled to myself and watched as Nymeria padded along behind them. It was good for Arya, I thought, to have a friend around her age to play with

I went to the cart that held my luggage and pulled out my lute, checking to see that it was still intact. When I was satisfied, I went to sit on a box near the royal carriage and decided to play absentmindedly. There were three handmaidens from King's Landing nearby, twisting their hair atop their heads. They cast me an almost displeased look, as if they were looking down on me. I ignored them and kept playing.

Amongst the soldiers passing by was Sansa, walking her direwolf. Lady was leashed by her owner, but she happily sniffed at the ground. The wolf was quite beautiful to look at with her white fur and light gray markings.

The handmaidens giggled to themselves and Sansa looked at them, admiring their hair and colorful clothing. The handmaidens looked up at her with almost the same level of displeasure. No matter what their standing, it seemed everyone from King's Landing looked down at the Northerners.

Sansa stopped in her tracks when a scary-looking bald man almost walked into her. She took a few cautious steps back. I could see the fear in her eyes and I wondered how much more frightened she would be when she saw who was coming up behind her.

"P-Pardon me, Ser," she said, taking another step back, almost bumping into the armored chest of Sandor Clegane.

Sandor reached out his hand and put it on her shoulder, startling her. She whipped around to face him. I stopped playing and stood up, hoping to overhear their impending conversation.

"Do I frighten you so much, girl?" he asked in a low voice. Then he glanced up at the bald man. "Or is it him there making you shake?" Sansa looked over her shoulder. "He frightens me too. Look at that face."

I could have sworn I saw a ghost of a smirk on Sandor's face, and I assumed he had been teasing the girl. There was no way a man as big and fearsome as he could be scared of the short, bald man. It was nice to see that he also had a sense of humor buried inside.

"I'm sorry if I offended you, Ser," Sansa said shyly to the bald man.

He just stared at her silently, glaring up at Sandor before walking around them and going away. Sandor's eyes followed him and he looked a bit amused.

"Why won't he speak to me?" Sansa asked Sandor.

"He hasn't been very talkative these last twenty years," Sandor told her. "Since the Mad King had his tongue ripped out with hot pincers."

"He speaks damn well with his sword, though," Joffrey swaggered over, coming behind Sansa. Her disposition perked up significantly when she saw him. "Ser Ilyn Payne, the King's Justice." When Sansa looked confused, he clarified by saying, "The royal executioner." Then he looked at the girl and reached out a hand to grasp her chin. "What is it, sweet lady? Does the Hound frighten you?" Joffrey backed up and looked at his guard with disgust. "Away with you, _dog_. You're scaring my lady."

Sandor sighed and bowed his head, turning on his heel to walk away. Without realizing what I was doing, I started to follow him, cradling my lute to my chest. I could hear the handmaidens tittering behind me as I strode off, but I ignored them, passing Joffrey and Sansa with my skirts billowing out behind me.

"Why did the Mad King rip out his tongue?" I asked once I caught up with Sandor. I nearly had to run to keep up with his long strides.

Sandor stopped in his tracks and looked down at me over his shoulder. His eyebrow twitched and he stared at me for a moment. I wondered if he would actually answer me.

"He was Captain of the Guards for the Lannister family back then," Sandor finally said. "Tywin Lannister was the Mad King's Hand."

"Tywin being the Queen Cersei's father, correct?" I interrupted.

"Aye," Sandor nodded. "Payne was overheard saying Tywin would be a better ruler."

"I take it that was the last thing he ever said," I chewed on my bottom lip.

"May have been," Sandor muttered. "Best be careful of what you say at the castle, girl. We wouldn't want the queen to do the same to you."

"You don't think she'd…" I trailed off, resting my fingers over my lips.

Sandor studied my face, watching me as I gulped. His eyes lingered on my mouth before he gave me a nod and continued on his way.

* * *

I grasped at my skirts, running through the woods as fast as my feet would carry me. Sansa had hurried into the village, screaming for help. There had been an altercation on the riverbank—Arya and Mycah were using sticks to play sword fighting when Sansa and Joffrey came upon them. The details were murky, but Joffrey was attacked by both a stick _and_ by Nymeria, the latter biting his wrist bloody. Arya, Mycah, and the wolf had run off into the woods and were being searched for while Joffrey was being tended to.

I knew I should have stayed behind with the king and the other women, but I couldn't stay still. I felt so guilty for not following her earlier when I saw her sneak off. All I could think of was Arya not being found and freezing to death overnight, or encountering an angry bear along the way. I knew she could take care of herself, but I still worried. I wanted to make sure she was okay and out of danger.

"Arya! Arya Stark!" I shouted, trying to look for her through the forestry.

There were other soldiers cutting their way through, muttering to each other about how easy it should have been to find a direwolf so far south from the Wall. I had even seen Sandor ride off before the search started, his sword strapped to his back. He had been under orders to find Mycah, as the boy had been accused of being the one who hit Joffrey. I hoped the boy would be brought back _alive_.

"Arya!" I hollered. The sun was beginning to go down and my worries were only getting worse. "Arya!"

"Fallon?" called out a voice. Arya's head poked out from behind a tree and I hurried over to her.

"Seven hells, sweet child, you gave me a fright," I muttered, falling to my knees in front of where she sat curled in a ball. I held her close to me and felt her wrap her arms around me. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"N-no. But Mycah is. Joffrey cut his face," Arya told me, pulling away to look me in the face. She was covered in dirt. "Mycah and I were just playing. Then Joffrey cut him and I hit him with my stick to get him away—"

"Hush, child, there are Lannister soldiers out here. They might hear you," I warned her under my breath.

"I want them to! Mycah didn't attack Joffrey, _I_ did! Mycah just ran away!" Arya pleaded with me.

I looked at her, hoping that the girl wouldn't get into trouble with the king. Who knew what kind of punishment would befall someone who hurt the prince?

"Come, Arya, we must find your father. He's looking all over for you," I said, standing up and taking her with me.

"Oi! I found 'er!" shouted out a soldier. "She's with the handmaiden!"

"The queen said to bring 'er straight to the king!"

Arya looked up at me, worry in her big eyes. She seized my arm and I nudged her to walk towards the soldiers. I stayed by Arya's side until two of the soldiers pulled her away from me and marched her ahead while I followed.

By the time we got to the inn, it was pitch black outside and the woods were alight with burning torches being carried by the search party. Outside of the inn, I found Jory Cassel preparing to mount his horse. I rushed over to his side.

"Jory! They found her!" I told him. "She's unhurt. Go tell Ned."

Jory nodded down at me from atop his white steed. I watched as he rode off into the woods. With a gulp, I entered the inn and found Arya amongst some of the Lannister soldiers. I stayed near the middle of the crowd, but I could see the girl standing before King Robert and Queen Cersei. Robert was seated in a makeshift throne, while his wife stood at his shoulder, staring coldly down at Arya. Joffrey was beside her, his wrist tied up in bandages. I crossed my fingers, hoping that they would go lightly on her.

Ned arrived soon thereafter, shoving his way through the men in the inn until he was reunited with his daughter, with Jory at his elbow. Ned grabbed onto her shoulders and checked to see if she was alright.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she whimpered.

"Are you hurt?" Ned asked.

"No," she told him.

"Oh, it's all right," he wrapped her into a hug. Then he turned to the King and Queen. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked angrily. "Why was my daughter not brought to me at once?"

Robert's mouth opened, but it was Cersei who spoke first.

"How dare you speak to your king in that manner?" she glared at Ned.

"Quiet, woman," he rumbled. "Sorry, Ned. I never meant to frighten the girl. But we need to get this business done quickly. She was found with her handmaiden at her side, but our men were a bit rough."

Ned looked back and found my eyes. I pursed my lips, feeling pressure on my chest. Ned nodded to me, then turned back to Robert. I hoped he didn't blame me as much as I blamed myself for what happened.

"That handmaiden of hers should do a better job keeping an eye out on her charge. Your girl and that butcher's boy attacked my son," Cersei said in an even tone. "That animal of hers nearly tore his arm off."

"That's not true!" Arya shouted. "She just…bit him a little." Robert tilted his head at her. "He was hurting Mycah."

"Joff told us what happened. You and that boy beat him with clubs while you set your wolf on him."

"That's _not_ what happened!"

"Yes it is!" Joffrey shot her a glare. "They all attacked me and _she_ threw my sword in the river."

"Liar!" Arya retorted.

"Shut up!" Joffrey fired back.

" _Enough_!" Robert roared. " _He_ tells me one thing, _she_ tells me another," he gestured to the children in question. " _Seven_ _hells_! What am I to make of this?" He was silent for a moment. "Where's your other daughter, Ned?"

"In bed, asleep," Ned told him.

"She's not," Cersei said. She looked over the heads of everyone in the inn. "Sansa, come here, darling."

I watched as Sansa came out of a side room, a member of the Kingsguard behind her. The soldiers parted a way for her and she sauntered over to her sister's side. The girl looked ashamed and embarrassed of everything that had happened.

"Now, child," Robert pointed at the ground in front of him and waited for her to step forth, "tell me what happened. Tell it all and tell it true. It's a great crime to lie to a king."

Sansa looked back at her father, not saying a word until he indicated to her that it was alright. She looked at Joffrey, who was staring it her expectantly.

"I don't know," she said. "I don't remember. Everything happened so fast. I didn't see."

"Liar!" Arya shrieked. She reached out and started hitting her sister and pulling her hair. "Liar, liar, liar!"

" _Arya_!"

"Hey! Stop it!" Ned yelled, trying to pull her off of Sansa.

"Stop it! What are you doing?!" Sansa screamed.

"Liar, liar, liar!"

"Stop! Arya!" Ned finally got her away.

"She's as wild as that animal of hers," Cersei said calmly. "I want her punished."

"What would yeh have me do? Whip her through the streets?" Robert asked sarcastically. "Dammit, children fight—it's _over_."

"Joffrey will bear these scars for the rest of his life," Cersei reminded him.

Robert looked at his son scornfully. "You let that _little girl_ disarm you?"

Joffrey breathed heavily through his nose, then looked away from his father.

"Ned, see to it that your daughter is disciplined. I'll do the same with my son," Robert told my lord.

"Gladly, Your Grace," Ned mumbled, turning away. Robert stood up to follow him.

"And what of the direwolf?" Cersei added, stopping both men. "What of the _beast_ that savaged your son?"

"…I'd forgot the damned wolf," Robert muttered, turning to one of the soldiers behind him.

"We found no trace of the direwolf, Your Grace," said the man.

"No?" Robert looked at his old friend. "So be it."

"We have another wolf," Cersei pointed out.

Robert glanced at his wife. "As you will."

"You can't mean it," Ned stopped Robert as he tried to walk past him.

"A direwolf's no pet," Robert whispered loudly enough for me to hear him. "Get her a dog, she'll be happier for it." And he walked through the crowd.

"He doesn't mean Lady, does he?" Sansa asked. When her father remained silent, Sansa's voice raised. "No, no, Lady didn't _bite_ anyone!" she glared at Cersei. "She's _good_!"

"Lady wasn't there! You leave her alone!" Arya cried out.

"Stop them, don't let them do it!" Sansa reached for her father's arm. "Please, PLEASE, IT WASN'T LADY!"

"Is this your command?" Ned called out to Robert's retreating figure, making the king turn to face him. "Your Grace?"

Robert was silent, stomping out of the inn and slamming the door behind him.

"Where is the beast?" Cersei asked the soldier.

"Chained up outside, Your Grace," he told her.

"Ser Ilyn, do me the honor," Cersei looked at the bald man standing behind the Stark children.

"No," Ned shook his head, stopping the executioner. "Jory, Fallon, take the girls to their rooms." I could hear Sansa crying to herself. Ned stepped closer to the queen. "If it must be done, then I'll do it myself."

"Is this some trick?" Cersei asked.

"The wolf is of the North," he replied. "She deserves better than a butcher." Then he turned and left the inn.

I came forward, laying a hand on Arya's shoulder. She tore her shining eyes away from the queen and looked up at me before throwing her arms around me. I stroked her hair and let her silently cry out her frustration while Jory took Sansa against him.

"You _begged_ my husband to keep your duties as a handmaiden and you let _this_ happen to my son?" Cersei looked at me. While Ned may not have blamed me, she certainly did. There was an uncommonly large knot in my throat. "I want you out of my sight."

"Your Grace," I bowed my head and walked Arya with me outside of the hall we were in.

In the darkness, I could see Ned talking to a large figure with a horse. As the figure got closer, I could tell it was Sandor. Slung over the back of his tall horse was an unmoving body. I had a sick feeling in my stomach as to who it might have been.

I put a hand on the back of Arya's head, pressing her face back into my middle so she wouldn't see the bloody, cut up body across the saddle. My heart sank in my chest and tears pricked at my eyes. He really _was_ a vicious dog.

"…rode him down?" Ned asked.

"He ran," the Hound didn't stop walking. He didn't even look back as he responded. He just faced forward, his features calm, as if he didn't just kill an innocent boy. "Not very fast."

* * *

 **Ohhhhhhhh shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.**

 **[Announcer voice] Will Fallon ever be able to forgive Sandor for the killing of Arya's friend? More importantly, will she ever be able to forgive herself for not being able to stop the situation? Tune in next time to find out!**


	8. Plenty Worse

**I couldn't fall** asleep for the life of me. I was tossing and turning, trying to find a comfortable position to no avail. My thoughts would not quiet down and I kept seeing that motionless body on the Hound's saddle whenever I closed my eyes.

I sat up in my bed and hugged my knees to my chest. I couldn't stop imagining the terror that boy must have felt, having been chased by the sword-swinging Hound. I believed Arya when she said that Mycah was innocent, as there was something about Prince Joffrey that didn't quite sit well with me. I had barely spoken with Mycah, but he seemed like a sweet boy—not one who would beat a defenseless person with a club.

 _Sandor Clegane tossed back the rest of his wineskin, silently holding it up to the tavern keeper across from him._

 _The man was much older than the royal guard. What little of his remaining white hair tufted out behind his large ears. His eyes were an icy shade of blue and they had a habit of widening whenever Sandor acknowledged him. They held the fear that Sandor was used to seeing._

 _"Fill it," Sandor finally growled._

When my restlessness wouldn't abate, I decided to get out of bed and go for a walk in the moonlight. I fastened my cloak lazily about my shoulders and left my room at the inn, stopping outside of Arya's door. Her room was silent and I hoped for her sake that she had been able to sleep.

 _The tavern keeper's hand shook as he reached out to grab Sandor's empty wineskin. He kept glancing back as he filled it up. The keeper's lack of focus caused wine to dribble out of the skin and onto his hand when he over-filled it._

 _Sandor felt a smirk tug at his lip. The keeper was certainly afraid of him and was worried that he would take any excuse to gut him. Sandor enjoyed killing as much as the next knight shrouded in hypocrisy and bloodlust, but he had a code. He killed when killing was warranted. He wasn't like his brother._

 _He would_ never _be like his brother._

The moment I stepped outside, my face was whipped with cold night air. The Riverlands weren't nearly as frigid as the North, but wasn't nearly was warm as King's Landing. I pulled the cloak around me closer and took note of my surroundings. A few torches were lit against the building, illuminating the empty area.

I watched as the door to the tavern opened up not too far from where I stood. I felt another lump in my throat, hoping that whoever came out wasn't another drunk man with bad intentions.

 _Clutching his newly filled wineskin, Sandor pulled out what few Copper Pennies he had on his person and put them down on the bar before him. He knew it wasn't enough for the amount of wine he had ingested, but he also knew that the terrified man wouldn't have the stones to argue with him._

 _'_ Yeh've got stones, girl _.'_

 _The statement he had made to Fallon many nights before sat in his mind as he walked across the tavern and headed for the door. Earlier that very night, he had seen her when he returned the butcher's boy to town. Out of the corner of his eye he could tell she had been holding the little wolf girl against her so she couldn't see._

 _Fallon had been staring at him, as she was prone to do. Only that time there was no hint of a smile, no curiosity in her eyes—just shock. And it was the same look that he faced when he stepped outside of the tavern._

My mouth dried up the moment I saw the Hound duck out of the doorway. He lumbered out of the building, wineskin in hand, and stopped when I caught his eye in the torchlight. There had been a slight smirk on his face, but when he saw me, his face was wiped clean of emotion.

"The fuck you doing out here?" he asked after a moment of silence. His voice slurred even worse than it did the night we spoke in the kitchens.

"I can't sleep," I said shakily, hugging my cloak to me tighter. "I can't stop thinking about what you did to Mycah."

 _Sandor stepped closer to her and examined her face. There it finally was—the revulsion, the fear. Her bottom lip quivered and her eyes were glassy. He knew it was only a matter of time before even_ she _couldn't stand to look at him. Whether it came from the ugliness of his face or the ugliness of his deeds for the crown, he knew she would come to fear him._

 _Yet her stare didn't falter once._

 _"Aye. I rode him down," Sandor grumbled down at her, ignoring the familiar dizzying sensation that happened whenever he drank. "Idiot boy shouldn't have run."_

 _"And_ you _shouldn't have killed him," Fallon snapped._

 _Taken aback, Sandor re-evaluated her face as best he could in his inebriated state. There was a wrinkle between her eyebrows that he had never seen before. The corners of her trembling mouth pointed downwards. And her gray-green eyes had a certain glint in them that he hadn't noticed at first look._

 _She wasn't afraid. She was angry._

I couldn't stop the words coming out of my own mouth. My blood was boiling the more I looked at the Hound. He showed no emotion, no remorse. Where was the good man I had fooled myself into seeing in him? I had once felt safe around him. Not anymore.

"I did what I had to do, girl," he drank from his wineskin and took another step until he was uncomfortably close to me. I could smell the drink on his breath from the way his head was bent down to look in my eyes. He put his wineskin away and held his hands on his hips. "Queen ordered me to bring him back dead or alive."

"So you chose dead," I fired back.

"He ran."

"And you nearly cut him in half!"

The Hound suddenly grabbed me by the shoulders with great force. His mouth was curved in a frown and he had a fierce look in his eyes.

"And if I hadn't, the queen would've had much worse done to him," he said harshly. "The boy was lucky I gave him a quick death."

I felt the sting of tears in my eyes and I tried to fight them back. His grip was tight and sure to leave marks under his armored gloves.

"You're not in the North anymore, girl," the Hound continued. "There aren't many as noble and honorable as your bloody wolf lord. You need to learn that and learn it quick, else it might be you bleeding all over my fucking saddle next time."

The Hound released my shoulders and stepped back. He took one last look at me and then stormed past me. I whipped around and watched him stride into the inn, slamming the doors behind him.

I stood behind Shevaun as she bent her head to sip from the river. Our party had stopped briefly so King Robert could enjoy a luncheon with Ned, which he did almost every day. The rest of the royal family and the Starks ate in their carriages. I had been invited to join them by Septa Mordane, but I honestly didn't have much of an appetite after my experience with the Hound the night prior.

My shoulders were still a little sore from his severe grasp. I pulled down on one of my sleeves and examined the top of my arm, noting the thick purple marks from his fingers. I sighed and pulled my sleeve back up before anyone could accuse me of any immodesty.

Several soldiers were down the riverbank from me, also letting their horses drink. I glanced over and noticed that the Hound was not one of them. I breathed a sigh of relief and started absentmindedly petting Shevaun's hip. Her dappled hair was soft under my hands.

Behind me, a pair of heavy footsteps clanked closer and I turned slowly to see the Hound leading Stranger to the water. A lump appeared in my throat when I saw the dried, dark stains on the black horse's saddle. The large man caught my eye before I looked away. I stepped closer to the right side of Shevaun's neck and reached for her reins. I tried to pull her away from the water, but she resisted, still drinking.

"Come on, girl," I muttered, wanting to get away from the Hound as quickly as possible. I could feel him staring at me and it made me less than comfortable.

"Seems your pony isn't ready to leave," the Hound said in a tone I had never heard from him before. It almost sounded… _playful_.

I found it annoying.

"Seems you should mind your own business," I replied under my breath, refusing to look at him. I tugged at Shevaun's reins yet again, to no avail.

"The songbird is still angry with me," he continued. "Did you love that butcher's boy as much as you love that wolf girl? Pity he had to go the way he did. I'll be washing him off my saddle for weeks."

I felt my insides go cold. I let go of the reins, straightened my body, and turned around to face him. He was standing on Stranger's left side, only two steps away from me. On his scarred face was a smirk that made me want to hit him.

"You are the worst shit in the Seven Kingdoms," I said coldly, wiping away his expression.

"Plenty worse than me, girl," the Hound responded in a much more serious voice. "There's men who'll beat you, men who'll rape you, men who'll beat you and then rape you. Some might even let you live after."

"And _you_ won't hurt me?" I cocked a brow at him doubtfully. The bruises on my shoulders seemed to sting a little more in that moment.

"No, little songbird, I won't hurt you," he took a step closer to me and looked into my eyes.

"How am I supposed to believe that?" I asked, feeling my breath hitch.

Part of me could see the truth behind his gaze. Part of me didn't want to. It was much easier to just be angry with him for what happened to Mycah. The lump in my throat grew and I tried to swallow it down.

The Hound's mouth opened, as if to give me an answer, but then his eyes shifted from mine to just over my shoulder. He put his hand on the pommel of the sword at his hip.

"Don't move," he murmured.

My ears perked up at the not so distant sound of a snarling animal behind me. I took a shaky breath as the Hound slowly stepped around me and past Shevaun. Not heeding his warning, I turned around and saw a wild dog approaching us. The mongrel was thrashing his head about, foam spraying from its mouth. It was walking sideways, coming towards us in a disorganized fashion.

Shevaun whinnied, rearing on her hind legs. I shushed her, trying to calm her down. I could hear the dog snarling even more and I looked up to see it trying to run over to my horse, jumping every other step. I got hold of Shevaun's reins and started stroking her neck, feeling my heart race at the thought of the crazed animal attacking her.

"RAAAH!"

 _SHING!_

Before I could truly process what had happened, the dog whimpered and went silent. It fell to the ground, blood pouring out of a large hole in its side. The dog's leg twitched a few times before becoming motionless.

"See, girl. I won't hurt you," Sandor heaved a great sigh, bending down to wipe his bloody sword on the grass of the river bank. He looked at me as he sauntered back over to his horse. " _Plenty_ worse than me."

* * *

 **Sorry it took so long and sorry it's so short, but school is ridiculous right now! I hope you guys enjoy it! I also hope the first part wasn't confusing with the changing POVs. I thought I'd try a little something different since I thought both of their points of view were a little important in that moment.**


	9. Fresh Air and Sunshine

**Squinting my eyes,** I looked ahead of me at the carriage holding the Stark girls and Septa Mordane. Something was sticking outside of the window, but I could hardly make out what it was. I nudged Shevaun to a trot and as I came a bit closer, I could see that it was a small hand. A grin crossed my face when I saw Arya poke her head out and look at me, only to be yanked back inside by an unseen figure.

 _That girl_ , I thought to myself, shaking my head. I kept Shevaun at a trot until I eventually caught up with the carriage and was seated alongside the window. I peered inside and saw Septa Mordane holding Sansa's latest needlepoint, cooing over the older girl's fine work. Arya leaned forward in her seat, past Sansa on her other side. Arya's face brightened up a bit when she met my gaze.

"Hello, little lady," I beamed at her. "How are you faring today?"

"Disobedient as usual," Septa Mordane sighed before Arya could open her mouth, glancing up over Sansa's work.

"With all due respect, she's had a rough time, Septa," I pointed out, giving Arya a warm smile. "She lost a good friend."

"That was _days_ ago," Sansa looked at me.

"Time does heal most wounds, but surely it takes more than days, my lady," I said carefully.

"You wouldn't say the same thing if it was _Jeyne_ skewered by the Hound," Arya shot back at her sister.

" _Jeyne_ wouldn't have attacked Joffrey," Sansa retorted.

"Mycah didn't attack Joffrey and you know it! You were there! You know what happened!"

"I _said_ I don't _remember_ ," Sansa replied through gritted teeth.

"Liar, liar!"

Septa Mordane and I exchanged worried glances and I quickly reached in through the window and grabbed Arya's shoulder before she could lunge at her older sister. The girl turned to me with a fierce look in her eyes, but I could see her lips beginning to tremble.

"Perhaps, Septa, when we break for lunch, the little lady can leave the carriage and eat outside with me. It must be hot in here, all cooped up every day," I said gently, knowing that it was almost time to stop and eat. "Perhaps some fresh air and sunshine might make her a bit more, er, _obedient_." Squeezing her shoulder, I gave Arya a knowing look and she rolled her eyes, but I could tell she was beginning to calm down.

Septa Mordane examined my face for a moment before heaving another sigh. "You really should be in here with her, to keep her focused."

I pursed my lips, relaxing my grip on Arya until I had let go of her altogether. Septa Mordane had rarely approved of the way I treated Arya. She always thought I was too easy on her, too loose with her. She acted as if I let Arya run wild with no repercussions. Yes, Arya was wild, but I knew how to rein her in. The older woman just didn't understand that Arya responded to things much differently than Sansa did, and she didn't _want_ to understand.

"Though, it does seem to be a beautiful day. I think lunch outside would do us all well, don't you, Sansa, dear?" Septa Mordane smiled at the oldest Stark girl.

Sansa looked past me out the window and shrugged. "I suppose," she mumbled.

* * *

"I hate her. I hate her almost as much as I hate the Hound," Arya said, throwing a rock into the river.

"I know you're upset, but she's your sister, sweet child. And she's the only one you've got," I reminded her from my seat on the grass. I was picking at the hunk of bread in the small bowl on the ground beside me. Arya had only eaten half of her lunch, deciding instead to release a bit of her anger by hurling things into the water.

"Doesn't make her any less of a liar," Arya threw another rock and turned around to face me. Her cheeks were red and her hair was coming loose from the braid across her hairline.

I gave her a sheepish grin and beckoned to her, sitting up on my knees. "Come here, little lady, I'll fix your hair."

Without a word, Arya came closer to me and plopped down in front of me so I could touch up her brown tresses.

"You know, you're very lucky to even _have_ a sister," I murmured. "I always wanted one."

"Do you have any brothers?" Arya asked.

"Not a single one."

"Then who's supposed to carry on your family name?"

"I have no name to carry on, child. No family either."

Arya's shoulders slumped. "Well, if you really want a sister, then you can take Sansa. I can do without her."

I chuckled. "You say that now, but I know that deep down inside you truly love her and you'd be quite sad without her."

Arya turned around the moment after I finished fixing her hair and furrowed her brows in my direction. "You're wrong, Fallon."

"Of course, my lady," I smirked and held my hands out to her. She took mine in hers and we stood up together. "Before I have you return to your carriage, will you make me a promise?"

"I know, I know, I won't _claw Sansa's eyes out_ ," Arya said in mocking tone as she rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest.

"Good answer," I snickered, putting my hand on her shoulder blade and leading her back to the caravan.

Everyone was finishing their food and starting to pack things up. I saw that Septa Mordane and Sansa had laid down a blanket on the grass as they ate. Sansa was staring over her shoulder and I could only assume she was watching as Joffrey climbed into the Baratheon carriage not far ahead, where his mother and siblings were.

He had spent more time on his horse than I expected. I would have assumed he only traveled on his steed when he needed to keep up appearances, but he had spent much of our journey as of yet outside of the carriage, Sandor riding along behind him.

Speaking of which, I noticed the large guard also watching as the prince shut the door behind him. Sandor had been feeding Stranger a carrot not far from the carriage. From what I could see, he had the ghost of a smirk on his face, as if he was pleased that he had no need to watch over the 'little cunt'.

"Fallon?" Arya asked, just as Sandor's eyes met mine.

"Yes, child," I averted my gaze to my charge.

"You told a lie," she said. "You _do_ have a family."

I cocked a brow.

"You have me."

A tear pricked in my eye. It was rare that Arya said such sweet things like that. And whenever she did, I never took it lightly. Pressing my lips firmly together, I pulled Arya into my side and squeezed her tightly.

"I couldn't wish for a better sister, could I?" I stroked her hair and felt her arms wrap around my waist.

"Tell the king you don't want to be his musician," Arya said.

"If only I could," I sighed. "Fret not, though. You'll still have me around some of the time."

"Until my thirteenth nameday. Then you're gone forever."

"That's where you're wrong, my dear," I squeezed her again and pulled away, grabbing her shoulders. "I'm part of you and you are part of me, Arya Stark. I could be shipped off to Essos, never to return to Westeros, and you still wouldn't be rid of me. Why? Because, little lady, no matter what happens, I'm right here," I said, pointing to her heart.

"Come, Arya," said the voice of Septa Mordane from behind my charge. She and Sansa had finally stood up, the former folding the blanket neatly. "Into the carriage."

Arya's shoulders slumped yet again and she looked at me as she groaned. I smiled and cocked my head towards the aforementioned carriage. Without a word, Arya turned and stepped away, following her older sister.

"And you?" Septa Mordane raised an eyebrow to me. "Are you her handmaiden or the king's musician today?"

"I think I'll be enjoying this sunshine more while I can, thank you very much, Septa," I told her, not appreciating the icy tone.

Before she could respond, I walked off in the direction of Shevaun, who was grazing with other horses not far away. I passed some of the knights who were packing up from lunch. Sandor was still with Stranger, feeding him. I ignored him as he glanced at me.

"Best stay in with the wolf children," he said as I tightened the straps on Shevaun's saddle. "It's going to rain."

"Mighty talkative these days, aren't we?" I looked over at him, my right brow as high as it could possibly go.

Sandor caught my eye, but his face showed no emotion. He watched me as I mounted Shevaun. I broke off our eye contact when I looked upwards.

"There isn't a dark cloud in the sky," I narrowed my eyes at him. "How can you know it's going to rain?"

He didn't say anything, but his gaze remained locked on me. I wondered if my comment about him talking had annoyed him. Not that I cared—I was still unhappy with him over the killing of Arya's friend. No amount of rabid animal-slaying could change that.

"At any rate, I'm not made of flour," I sighed and pulled on Shevaun's reins to lead her back to the path. "I can handle a little rain. _If_ it even rains at all."

* * *

 _Sandor Clegane couldn't help smirking to himself from behind the jowls of his helm. As Joffrey had decided to retire in his carriage to suckle at his mother's teat or whatever it was he planned to do in there, Sandor had free rein to ride wherever he wanted in the procession._

 _And he chose a spot next to a clearly vexed—and soaked—Fallon._

 _When he first pulled up beside her, she had given him a sideways glance and that was the closest to communication they got. She wasn't nearly as upset with him as she had been the night he killed the butcher's boy, but she hadn't exactly been starting any conversations with him either. As a matter of fact, it was_ he _who was bothering her first in recent days._

 _What could he say? He found getting under her skin amusing, and an easy task. He found the way she was biting back to be both refreshing and entertaining, as not many bit back at him at all. Sure, some of the things he said to her were him genuinely trying to be helpful, such as telling her that it was going to rain. But, he surmised, he could save her from a million dragons and she'd still think he was 'the worst shit in the Seven Kingdoms.'_

 _Gods, did that comment sting him. He had more morals in his smallest toe than the majority of the knights under the crown. If she thought_ he _was the worst shit, she would have been in for a rude awakening when she met his brother._

 _Sandor felt an unfamiliar dull pang in his chest at the thought of Fallon encountering Gregor. As much fun as she was to antagonize, he didn't want to imagine the horrors she'd face at the hands of his brother..._

 _What had started out about an hour after the procession packed up from lunch as a gentle sprinkling of rain had become a heavy downpour. He could hear the water droplets bouncing off his armor and helm, their rhythm getting louder and faster. Turning his head ever so slightly, Sandor could see Fallon pull her cloak tighter around her shoulders. He could only imagine what her face looked like under her hood now. He had felt a tug at the corner of his mouth when the first raindrop fell and he saw her lips contort into a frown._

 _He could have said he told her so. And judging by the way her body tensed up as the rain continued to fall, she expected him to. But instead, Sandor had pulled his helm out of his saddlebag and put his head in it. Though it would have been fun to needle her, he got enough satisfaction from the first glimpse of her expression._

 _Sandor wondered when she would give up. He could only imagine she wasn't diving into the Stark carriage through the window because she didn't want him to feel like he had won. That or she was tougher than he gave her credit for. Perhaps both. Though most girls, from what he knew, couldn't handle too much the cold and the rain, and she had been out in it for quite a long time. She would be sick come nightfall, he thought._

 _"Inn ahead!" called out one of the soldiers._

 _"Inn ahead!" another one behind Sandor shouted over his shoulder as the message carried on after them._

 _The sky had been steadily darkening since the rain had begun hours before and Sandor was realizing how late it was getting. He was more than ready to get off of Stranger and stretch out his long, tired legs before eating a hot meal and ordering a drink._

 _Normally at this stage in a long journey, he'd be looking out for the nearest brothel to blow off some steam like the rest of the soldiers. The only women he'd ever been with were whores, so it wouldn't be anything different for him, but he knew a lot of those men had wives and children._

 _For some reason, Sandor didn't feel much compelled this time to dig out whatever coins he still had with him to spend an underwhelming night with a woman too disgusted to look him in the face. He decided that if at any point he found himself the slightest bit aroused, he would take care of things himself._

Wouldn't be the first time _, he thought to himself._

 _Sandor caught his head turning again to look over at Fallon, who was hunched over underneath her cloak. He could see her pale hands, white as a Kingsguard's cloak, shaking as they held her horse's reins. Her cloak was thick, but he could see the rest of her body shaking underneath it as well._

 _Finally, they came upon an inn in a small village, not unlike the one where Joffrey had gotten a tiny slice of what he deserved. Sandor watched as Fallon's body straightened up and his eyes followed her to the stable outside of the inn. He was surprised at how long she had spent in the rain. Surprised and, dare he even think it, a little proud._

* * *

 **I AM SO SORRY IT'S TAKEN ME SO LONG. Life has been insane lately...**

 **I hope you guys like this chapter! I'm sorry if it's a little short, I'm trying to get back into a groove.**

 **Please let me know what you think in the reviews! And, speaking of which, thank you everyone for all the awesome reviews you guys leave! I can't express how amazing they make me feel.**

 **Love you guys and thank you all for your patience.**


	10. Black and Brown

**My eyes widened** at the sight of the Red Keep. I marveled at the sight of the gigantic building. Having only seen glimpses of it as a child, I had never fully realized its magnitude. I felt very small from where I sat between Septa Mordane and the soldier steering our wagon.

That very morning, before we set off on the final leg of our journey, Ned had _suggested_ to me that I sit in the first wagon in the procession with his daughters and the older woman. According to my lord, the queen had…reservations…about a young woman being seen by her people riding on a horse alongside the other soldiers. Shevaun was lent to another soldier to ride, much to my dismay.

We entered the gate and our wagon slowed down to a stop. I watched as Ned dismounted from his white steed and a steward dressed in dark colors approached him.

"Welcome, Lord Stark. Grand Maester Pycelle has called a meeting of the Small Council. The honor of your presence is requested," the steward told him.

Ned looked over his shoulder at Septa Mordane. "Get the girls settled in," he said. "I'll be back in time for supper. And Jory, you go with them."

"Yes, my lord," Jory said.

"The handmaiden will be taken to the musicians' quarters. The King has requested a song from her," the steward glanced up at me. Then he looked at Ned's decidedly _Northern_ attire. "If you'd like to change into something more appropriate…"

From what I could tell, all Ned did was pull off his gloves. The steward pursed his lips and led the lord inside. I smirked to myself, knowing Ned was likely too tired to deal with this kind of shite.

"Excuse me, miss?" said a voice from beside one of the wagon's wheels.

I looked down and saw a plump man with balding dusty red hair and a manicured beard staring up at me. I noticed that he already had my bags under his arms. _What service_ , I thought to myself. Septa Mordane gave me a sidelong glance, as if I had any better idea as to who this man was than she did.

"Yes?" I leaned my head down over her lap.

"You're the new musician, are you not? Fallon?" he asked, stepping a bit closer.

"Aye, that's me," I smiled at him.

"My name is Ruban," he bowed his head. "I'm to take you to your new quarters."

"Very well, then," I nodded.

"Don't go," Arya whined, reaching out and grabbing my shoulder before I could move.

"I'll find you as soon as I can, little lady," I murmured back to her, squeezing her hand before I went to stand up.

The man who steered the wagon clambered off the vessel and lent me his grubby hand to help me follow him. I nodded my thanks and stepped around the wagon to meet Ruban. He bowed his head to me again and I gave him a sheepish smile.

"Thank you, but that's unnecessary," I told him in a sweet voice. "I'm quite lowborn."

"Don't care much about classes. I bow to any and every lady I meet. 'Srespectful," he replied.

"If only there were more men like yourself in this world," I curtsied.

"And if only there were more women like yourself who could recognize that," Ruban beamed. "Please, follow me."

"Certainly," I said. I eyed one of the bags he had with them. I could see the neck of my lute sticking out of one of them. "May I?" I asked, cocking my head towards the bag.

Ruban's eyes followed mine and he quickly handed me said bag. "Yes, yes, of course, dear. We musicians must keep our instruments safe."

"Thank you," I nodded at him again and walked with him as he led me into the castle. "You're one of the musicians as well?"

"Aye, that I am," Ruban told me. "I play the lyre. And I've heard great things about you and your lute."

"Have you?" I raised a brow as we entered a dimly lit hallway. The corridor seemed to be one of those hidden passageways that only servants of the castle would know about, so I figured I should pay attention.

"We received word from King Robert himself. Very impressed, he was. Are you that talented or did he bed you?" Ruban asked.

"Sorry?" I chirped, not expecting to be asked such a question. _All that talk about being respectful…_

"Apologies for being so brash, lass, but the king _does_ have a reputation."

"Right, right. No, I don't think the king is interested in bedding me. He hasn't even spoken to me since he offered me the job," I gulped.

"Hmm…" Ruban considered my words for a moment. "Must be _very_ talented then."

I couldn't quite tell how I felt about Ruban at this point. I didn't much appreciate him insinuating that I had fucked my way into my position. Gods, I barely even _wanted_ it in the first place.

"Apologies again, dear. I've been so rude," Ruban said after a moment of silence. He sounded genuine enough, his voice high, as if he'd just realized something. "Me mother always used to tell me to think before I speak. Things just pop into me head and come out me mouth before I know it. Seven knows how much trouble that's gotten me into over the years."

I glanced at the side of Ruban's face. I could see a jagged scar running from his temple all the way down into his beard, parting the red hairs, and ending at his chin. I felt a wave of empathy crash over me.

"Apology accepted," I offered him a smile. "No one is perfect."

"You're very kind, Fallon," he looked at me.

"Thank you."

"And I'm very lucky," Ruban said as he approached a stairway in the dim corridor and started climbing it. "I've yet to put one of my feet in me mouth in front of the royal family. Gods know if I did the queen would have me hand chopped off and I wouldn't be able to play anymore. Gods also know I'm not much of a singer, and so I'd be shit out of luck, wouldn't I? And that's the _best_ -case scenario, innit?"

I felt a lump in my throat. Queen Cersei was already displeased with me on many counts. I wondered if King Robert or, hells, even Ser Jaime, were the only reasons I had remained unscathed thus far.

 _Remind me to pray to the Stranger that King Robert lives a long, healthy life_ , I thought to myself.

"So, you were the Stark girl's handmaiden?" Ruban asked, opening a door into a far more ornate corridor—one that wasn't hidden from the public.

"Aye," I said, looking at the fancy candelabra lining the hall.

"And you'll be splitting your duties?"

"Until her thirteenth nameday, yes."

"Gods, you must be good for the king to agree to that."

"I've, er, _got stones_."

Ruban turned his head and glanced down at my skirts, as if expecting to see something bulging out from there. _He's a bit daft, isn't he?_ I thought as Ruban stopped at a door. I noticed there was another door directly across the hall, and a few more down the way.

"Here are the musicians' quar—"

Ruban's voice stopped at the sound of loud clanking coming down the hallway. We both turned our heads and saw the large man in heavy dark armor coming towards us. Ruban caught my eye and looked down at the floor. Though I normally wouldn't be afraid to look at someone, I could sense from Ruban's reaction that whoever this was, he was not one to make eye contact with. I followed the musician's lead at first, but I did catch a glimpse.

His dark hair was cropped close to the top of his head and he had a beard that barely hid his intense disposition. He was the tallest man I had ever seen in my life. And judging by his bulky armor, he was likely the strongest man in all of Westeros.

Whoever he was, he didn't break his stride once when he neared us. I watched his enormous feet stomp past. And after the sound of his steps dampened, I met Ruban's eyes and then glanced back to see the incredibly tall man turn a corner at the end of the hallway and walk out of sight.

"Best keep your distance from him as much as you can," Ruban muttered. "They call him the Mountain."

"I can see why," I bounced my eyebrows.

"While you're at it, try and avoid his _little_ brother," Ruban said in my ear. "As fearsome and vicious as they are massive, those Cleganes."

My head snapped in Ruban's direction. " _Cleganes_? There's more than just San—er, the Hound?"

"You already know the Hound?" Ruban furrowed his brow at me.

"Erm, well, I wouldn't exactly say I _know_ him," I shrugged.

"But you've encountered the dog?"

"Aye," I nodded quickly. "Several times."

"I don't envy you, girl," Ruban shivered. "As I was saying," he cleared his throat, "these are the musicians' quarters. This is your new chamber. Mine is across the way. You'll meet the rest later."

Ruban opened the door we were standing outside of and gestured for me to walk in front of him. I stepped in and studied my surroundings. There was a featherbed directly across from the door. A tall, unlit candle stood on the small bedside table. In the corner of the room was a scribe table which I assumed I could write songs on. A large chest rested against the foot of the bed and I put my bag atop it carefully.

I walked over to the window, where a sparse breeze was blowing the thin white curtain. Pushing the fabric to the side, I looked at my view of Blackwater Bay. I hadn't seen that body of water since I was very young and a strong sense of nostalgia hit me. First sweet. Then bitter.

 _"Papa likes it when yer 'air is short."_

Shuddering, I stepped away from the window and began fiddling with the brown tresses hanging about my waist. I turned and saw that Ruban was standing not far from the door. I faked a smile in his direction and watched as he set my other bag on the chest.

"'Snot much, truth be told. But it's comfortable," he told me.

"It's lovely," I assured him. "Just lovely."

* * *

" _…From there to here. From here! To there! All black and brown and covered in hair! He smelled that girl on the summer air! The bear! The bear! The maiden fair! And the bear, the bear! The maiden fair! And the bear, the bear! The maiden fair! And the bear, the bear!_ " I finished with a curtsy.

"Excellent, excellent," King Robert clapped, giving me a roguish smile.

He was seated at his table in his chambers, two guards behind him. One of them was an older man with thinning white hair, the other looked a little too familiar.

"No one sings it quite like she does, eh, Trant?" Robert looked over his shoulder.

"Not that I've heard, Your Grace," the guard said, glaring at me from under his arched eyebrows.

He clearly remembered me—probably because he felt so humiliated by the beat-down Sandor gave him in the stables that day. The day I was afraid unspeakable things would be done to Arya.

"And you, Selmy?" Robert looked over his other shoulder and the white-haired guard.

"Very well done, Your Grace," Selmy replied, nodding his head to me.

"You're all very kind," I bowed my head again.

"The pleasure is all mine, Fallon," Robert leaned back against his chair. "You may go tend to the Stark girl for the time being. I've requested another song at supper tonight, but I've given you leave until the morrow so that you can settle in."

I was struck by this. I didn't expect him to be so lenient. _Perhaps Ned called in a favor?_

"That's very generous of you, Your Grace. I cannot thank you enough," I curtsied yet again, holding my lute to my chest.

"Off you go," Robert gestured to the door.

I had just turned when said door burst open and Joffrey strode in, pulling his sleeve down over his wrist. I wondered if he was trying to cover up his scars from Nymeria's attack. He sneered at me before shouldering his way past me and walking to Robert's table.

"Father, I—"

"Shut it, boy," Robert growled, glaring at his son. Then he looked up past me. "Ah, good thing you're here, dog."

I whipped around and saw Sandor in the doorway. The tall guard didn't look down at me and I was glad. It had almost been a fortnight since he had proved me wrong about the rain, but I was still kind of embarrassed about it. I was thankful that our paths didn't cross much on the road after that event, but every once in a while I would catch him smirking at me when we broke for lunch.

"Do us all a favor and escort the girl to the Starks," King Robert continued. "Precious cargo, she is. I would hate it if something happened to her."

I furrowed my brow at that statement. _What does he think is going to happen to me in the castle?_

Sandor simply nodded and turned around to leave the doorway. I followed him and let the door close behind me. Sandor was leaning against the wall, staring at me.

"You don't have to escort me. I'll be fine," I mumbled.

"King's orders," Sandor grunted.

"Fine," I sighed. "Can we stop at my chamber first? I'd like to put my lute away so I don't lose it…again."

Sandor stared at me for a moment, not a hint of emotion on his face, and then he started walking in the direction of the musicians' quarters. I struggled to keep up with his long strides, nearly running by the time we reached a staircase.

"Why didn't you gloat?" I asked suddenly, not even realizing what I was doing until it was already done.

Sandor stopped and turned around. He was enough steps down that we were almost eye-level. "The fuck you talking about?" he asked.

"W-When it rained," I elaborated, feeling a bit nervous under his gaze. "You rode next to me because you knew it was going to rain and you knew I was being an idiot. You had every opportunity to mock me and gloat, but you didn't."

"Look on yer face was plenty," Sandor shrugged his broad shoulders. "Enough with the questions, girl."

I chewed on my bottom lip and watched as he turned around and continued down the stairs, following him after a few seconds. I felt a familiar fuzziness rising in my stomach and abruptly felt the urge to get his attention again.

"I didn't know you had a brother," I said, causing Sandor to stop in his tracks yet again. He didn't turn around this time, so I came down until I was one step above him, but still shorter than him. "I take it his given name isn't _the Mountain_ as much as yours isn't _the Hound_?"

Sandor took a deep breath and turned his head to look at me, the fuzzy feeling dissipating immediately. There was a fire in his eyes that made me gulp. He looked as if he were struggling to suppress the urge to strike me for mentioning the brother. I glanced at the burned side of his face and pursed my lips, wondering if the Mountain had had anything to do with the deformity.

"I-I'm sorry," I muttered quickly. "You said enough and I should have stopped talking. I w-won't bring it up again. I'm sorry."

Sandor stared at me for another moment and I could see his expression soften just a wee bit before he continued down the way. I followed him silently until we reached my chamber and I nodded my thanks to him before he clomped down the corridor without a word.

* * *

"Arya, please," I said, looking at the young brunette angrily stabbing at the table with a knife.

"Enough of that, young lady. Eat your food," Septa Mordane said in a firm voice. She gave me another sidelong glance, as if to show me that I was being too soft on the girl.

"I'm practicing," Arya shot back at the septa.

"Practicing for what?" Sansa asked, not looking up from her plate.

"The prince."

My eyebrows shot up.

"Arya, _stop_ ," Septa Mordane gasped.

"He's a liar and a coward," Arya's voice was raising. "And he killed my friend."

"The _Hound_ killed your friend," Sansa rebutted.

"The _Hound_ does whatever the prince tells him to do," Arya was still stabbing at the table.

"You're an idiot."

"You're a liar. And if you told the truth, Mycah would be alive!" Arya punctuated her sentence by stabbing the knife into the table closer to Sansa, deep enough so the knife stood upright in the wood.

"Arya, that's enough," I stared at her from across the table. Her dark gray eyes were fierce and unwavering.

Septa Mordane rose from her chair and gestured for the girl to stand up and leave the room. Arya didn't protest. But before she could go too far, Ned came up behind my chair.

"What's happening here?" he asked, glancing down at me.

"Arya would rather act like a beast than a lady," Septa Mordane cut in, staring down the young girl.

Arya's eyes shifted from Ned's, to mine, back to Ned's. She knew she had crossed the line.

"Go to your room," Ned told her. "We'll speak later."

Arya looked at me, as if expecting me to come with her. I gave her a wistful smile and jerked my head towards the door. Frowning, she turned around and left the room.

"That's for you, love," Ned said after an awkward pause.

I looked down at the table and noticed that he put down a small object wrapped in a dark cloth in front of Sansa. He sat down in the seat beside me and watched as his oldest daughter put her eating utensils down to open the gift. She untied the strings holding the cloth together, her eyebrows furrowing at the object inside. It was an ornate doll. I pursed my lips, knowing this wasn't going to go over well.

"The same dollmaker makes all of Princess Myrcella's toys," Ned added. Sansa still didn't look impressed. "Don't you like it?" he asked when she didn't say anything.

"I haven't played with dolls since I was eight," she said poisonously.

Ned looked crestfallen and I started to pity him.

"May I be excused?" Sansa asked.

"W-You've barely eaten a thing," Septa Mordane gesticulated towards Sansa's plate.

"It's all right," Ned sighed. "Go on."

Sansa stood up, placed her napkin on the table, and stormed off, leaving the doll behind.

Ned waited for her to leave earshot and then he looked at me. "War was easier than daughters."

With a smile, I leaned over and grabbed the doll, admiring her. "Believe me when I say this, my lord, you could be doing much worse."


	11. The Tournament of the Hand

**"Come here, sweet** girl," I said, feeling the sweat beading on my forehead. I wiped at my hairline with my wrist and put my other hand on my hip. "Let me braid you."

"I don't care about braids," Arya responded. Her eyes were clamped shut and her little body shook as she tried to balance on one foot. "Besides, Syrio says I'm not a girl—I'm a sword."

I smirked in spite of myself. "Indeed, you are, child. Your words cut me through and through. I'm beginning to think you prefer this _Syrio Forel, First Sword to the Sealord of Braavos_ over me."

Arya opened her eyes and furrowed her brow at me. I snapped a finger and pointed to the chair before me. She shook her head with the same fervor as a wet dog.

"It wouldn't kill you to take a moment's break," I said. "It's too hot to keep your hair down, anyway."

She chewed on the inside of her lip and then put her other foot down on the ground before stepping over to the chair. She slumped down in her dirty shirt and breeches. If I weren't so well-acquainted with her I might have confused her for one of the street urchins in Flea Bottom.

"Thank you," I murmured as I grabbed a comb from her bedside table and started running it through her tangled tresses.

I could feel sweat rolling down my spine and collecting at the small of my back. The muted seafoam green-colored dress I had been given to wear around the castle was made of draping, thin material, but my body was still acclimated to the coldness of the North. Even on a cool day in King's Landing I would be hot. However, before I left the musicians' quarters to come tend to Arya, I heard Ruban complaining about how particularly hot it was this day.

"Do you really think I prefer Syrio over you?" Arya asked.

"You do seem to find it hard to discuss anything other than him and his 'water dancing' training these days," I said, tossing the comb onto the bed.

"You're still my greatest friend, though," she mumbled under breath.

I smirked again, pretending I didn't hear what she said for her benefit. She tried so hard to keep her few kernels of sentimentality under wraps. But I knew they was there.

"Did you hear that Bran woke?" Arya suddenly asked.

"Did he, now?" I cocked a brow.

"Yes," she said, drawing her knees up to her chest.

"And his condition?" I gulped, hoping for the best.

"He can't walk."

I sucked on my bottom lip and took a deep breath. "My heart grows heavy, my lady."

"Bran is a cripple," Arya breathed, as if realizing that for the first time.

"Bran is _alive_ ," I reminded her.

Arya's shoulders drooped and a thick silence fell upon us in the room. I continued to braid her hair, feeling immense pressure on my chest. I was saddened at the thought of Bran waking up, only to find his bottom half useless. I hoped with all of my heart that Catelyn was by his side, or at least Robb and Rickon. Hell, even Theon.

"There," I said, tying her braids behind her head. "Now that your hair is all off the back of your neck you might find it easier to concentrate on becoming a sword—er, becoming _more_ of a sword."

Arya turned around in her seat and gave me a small smile. I patted the top of her head and silently stepped out of her chamber.

* * *

 _Sandor Clegane's ears perked up when he heard the strumming. He removed his forehead from where it rested against Stranger's and leaned back so as to hear where the music was coming from better. Someone was sitting nearby, playing an instrument. Sandor stepped away from his horse and started walking through the stable, the music getting louder with each step. He only halted when he heard a familiar nicker._

 _Turning his head, he saw the dapple mare that belonged to the songbird looking at him expectantly. The horse leaned her head down towards Sandor's large hand and he cocked his one good brow before remembering he still had an extra carrot in his grasp. Sandor held up the carrot and let the mare eat it._

Insistent, just like 'er owner _, he thought to himself._

 _Sandor shook his head and continued his way out of the stable. He looked around, trying to find the source of the music, but it seemed to have stopped._

 _"Good, good, you're quite talented," said a man's voice off to the side._

 _Sandor whipped his head around and saw the redheaded nance who played for the king. He was standing past a few squires who were no doubt preparing their knights for the upcoming Tournament of the bloody Hand. Sandor craned his neck and saw Fallon standing near the lyre-player. She was holding her lute, her fingers absentmindedly tapping at the neck of her instrument._

 _"D'you 'ear Ser 'Ugh is competing?" one of the squires asked, drowning out the sound of whatever Fallon had said to the other musician._

 _"Oh, aye," another squire said, tucking a helm under his arm. "Gangly prick thinks he's so much better than us. Seems to've forgotten he was one of us not too long ago."_

 _Sandor watched as the squires walked past, muttering under their breath about the recently deceased Jon Arryn's former squire as they went. Sandor stepped closer to the musicians without making it seem like he was eavesdropping on them. He pulled his sword out from behind him and pretended to examine it._

 _"…don't understand why you want to practice out here, Fallon," the redheaded nance said._

 _"I don't like to stay cooped up for too long," she explained. "Besides, we're playing outside to open the Tournament, are we not? It wouldn't hurt to practice outside."_

 _Sandor got a better look at the songbird. She hadn't seemed to have noticed him yet. Sandor was positive he would know if she saw him because she wasn't nearly as subtle as she might have thought she was._

 _She was wearing a much different dress than when he last saw her. He remembered the Northern garb she had on when he escorted her back to her chamber. Her cheeks had been rosy from the heat, but then from the mixture of embarrassment and anxiety when she asked him about his brother._

 _This day, Fallon was wearing a dress not unlike the handmaidens at the Red Keep wore, only hers was a different color. Sandor couldn't help noticing her shapely body now that she wasn't covered in several layers of cloth. Her arms and shoulders were exposed to the sun, her skin milky white with a tinge of pink._

 _"I suppose that makes sense," the redhead scratched at his beard. "Just don't know why you wanted to be_ here _."_

 _Sandor could feel a pair of eyes on him as he slung his sword across his back yet again. He glanced over and saw Fallon staring at him. Her lips were parted, as if she were about to say something. Her cheeks filled up with color and she turned back to look at her compatriot._

 _"I-I don't know either. We should go back in," she said._

 _"We just got here, though."_

 _"I, er… The heat," Fallon clearly lied. "I feel faint."_

 _"Shall I get you something to drink?"_

 _"No, Ruban, I just need to go back in. Perhaps we can find something to eat on our way."_

 _Sandor wondered why she was reacting like this. Was she finally as scared of him as he predicted she one day would be? Or was she still embarrassed and anxious from their conversation on the stairwell?_

 _If it were anyone else, he would have felt it safe to assume the former. But something deep inside of him knew she was too brave to fear him. Not until he gave her a reason to, at least._

* * *

The crowd that had gathered for the Tournament of the Hand cheered as they waited for the joust to begin. Ruban, the other musicians, and I had performed at the beginning of the event, as per King Robert's request, and then we went to find our seats. We had our own row, but Arya had waved over to me and I chose to leave my lute with Ruban and sit between her and Septa Mordane.

We weren't too far away from where the Baratheons sat, which became quite apparent to me the third time Sansa turned around to catch Joffrey's eye. The elder prince and his younger siblings were seated in chairs before Robert and Cersei. Behind the prince, who had no interest in Sansa's smile, was Sandor. The guard stood beside a large Baratheon banner, displaying the stag sigil.

"Lover's quarrel?"

Sansa whipped her head around and looked at the weedy man with a mockingbird brooch attached to his collar standing in front of her. He had graying dark hair and a goatee around his thin lips.

"I'm sorry, do I…?" Sansa trailed off.

"Sansa, dear, this is Lord Baelish," Septa Mordane explained. "He's known—"

"An old friend of the family," he interrupted, smiling at the girl. "I've known your mother a long, long time."

"Why do they call you Littlefinger?" Arya asked impulsively, not even a full second after Baelish had sat down beside her sister.

"Arya!" Sansa admonished the little lady.

"Don't be rude," I said, giving her a look.

"No, it's quite alright," he said, his smile looking a tad less genuine as he looked at Arya. "When I was a child, I was very small. And I come from a little spit of land called the Fingers. So, you see," he chuckled bitterly, "it's an exceedingly clever nickname."

"I've been sittin' here for DAYS!" King Robert said from behind us. I turned to look at him as he stood up, a horn of ale in his hand. "Start the damn joust before I piss meself," he slurred, handing the horn to the Kingsguard with the thinning white hair who was standing by him.

I noticed the look of disgust on Cersei's face as her husband struggled to sit back down in his drunken stupor. She stood up and walked off, Sandor's armor clinking as he moved to let her by. He glanced up and caught my eye, but I turned away before I could gauge his reaction—not that he would have emoted much anyway.

The crowd cheered louder when a large man in large black armor on a large black horse rode in from one side while a smaller knight in gray armor came in from the other side. I gulped, recognizing the girth of the large knight. When he and the other knight were side-by-side before the king I could tell that the larger one was at least a head taller than the other.

"Gods, who's that?" Sansa asked.

Littlefinger turned around to look at him. "Ser Gregor Clegane. They call him the Mountain." Said Mountain opened his helm to show his bearded face and bowed to the king. "The Hound's older brother."

I glanced back over my shoulder and saw Sandor eyeing him with almost as much disgust as the queen mere moments before.

"And his opponent?" Sansa asked.

"Ser Hugh of the Vale. He was Jon Arryn's squire. Look how far he's come."

"Yes, yes, enough of the bloody pomp," King Robert said. "Have at it!"

The knights turned around a clomped off to begin the jousting. The crowd cheered louder as a horn sounded. Each knight got their lance and shield from their respective squire and then started riding toward each other. I noticed the Mountain's shield featured a sigil of a dog on it and again glanced back at Sandor, who was watching intently.

Both riders stayed on the first round, but seemed to speed up the second time. I clutched at my skirts as both knights advanced upon each other. The Mountain's lance collided with Ser Hugh's and was met with a sickeningly loud cracking noise.

Sansa shrieked as the lance splintered, impaling Ser Hugh's neck. Most of the crowd gasped at the same time as we watched the young knight as he was flung from his horse and fell to the ground, not far from our spot in the audience. His body convulsed and blood spat out from the wound. Beside me, Septa Mordane covered her mouth. To my other side, Arya stared at the knight in shock as his mouth gurgled and his armor clanked. And then he lay still.

The Mountain trotted to the other end of the field, as if he hadn't just brutally killed a young man. He callously watched as Ser Hugh's lifeless body was dragged away. I looked away, looping my arm with Arya to both comfort her and myself. It was certainly a disturbing sight.

"Not what you were expecting?" Littlefinger asked Sansa, who seemed quite shaken up.

When she didn't say anything, he leaned closer and started whispering to her. I could faintly hear what he was saying and listened in.

"Has anyone ever told you the story of the Mountain and the Hound?" he asked.

Sansa looked over her shoulder, no doubt at Joffrey's guard.

"Lovely little tale of brotherly love," Littlefinger continued. "The Hound was just a pup, six years-old, maybe. Gregor, a few years older—already a big lad, already getting a bit of a reputation. Some lucky boys just born with a talent for violence…"

I glanced behind me and saw Sandor looking out at his brother, a familiar stoic look on his burned face. I felt a lump in my throat as I anticipated the story Littlefinger was about to tell. Surely Gregor was the cause of the awful facial disfigurement.

"One evening, Gregor found his little brother playing with a toy by the fire— _Gregor_ 's toy. A wooden knight. Gregor never said a word. He just grabbed his brother by the scruff of his neck and shoved his face into the burning coals. Held him there, while the boy screamed, while his face melted."

I closed my eyes and felt a shiver run down my spine. _Poor Sandor_ , I thought. _Gods know I didn't have the perfect childhood, but at least I was never held against burning coals…_

"There aren't very many people who know that story," Littlefinger said.

"I won't tell anyone, I promise," Sansa replied.

"No, please don't," Littlefinger murmured in her ear. "If the Hound so much as heard you mention it, I'm afraid all the knights in King's Landing would not be able to save you."

* * *

"Where's Arya?" Ned asked me shortly after he joined us in the stands. Our bench today was now occupied by only him, Septa Mordane, Sansa, and myself.

"At her _dancing_ lessons," I winked over Sansa's head at Ned. Only he and I knew that Arya was learning the art of swordsmanship.

"The Knight of the Flowers," Sansa crooned, smiling at the handsome knight in shining armor who was taking his sweet time coming to bow to the king.

The knight, with his long blonde hair cascading over his shoulders, had a rose in his hand. He halted before Sansa and handed the flower to her. Fitting, since he was a Tyrell…

"Thank you, Ser Loras," Sansa took it from him.

Loras smiled at the girl and then looked up at someone sitting past us in the stands. His smile suddenly looked a lot more genuine, leading me to assume that he cared deeply for whoever it was, and that he only gave Sansa the flower to keep up appearances.

The crowd cheered louder when Loras finally sped his white mare up and sat by the Mountain to bow to King Robert. The Mountain's horse brayed loudly and started to rear, making it hard for the Mountain to control. Ser Loras had a shite-eating grin on his face when he turned to go to the other end of the field. The Mountain's horse was less than graceful.

"Don't let Ser Gregor hurt him," Sansa begged, grabbing her father's arm.

"Hey," Ned grabbed her hand.

"I can't watch."

"A hundred Gold Dragons on the Mountain," Littlefinger called over his shoulder.

I turned to see who he was talking to and found that it was King Robert's younger brother, Renly Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. He was a handsome young man with dark hair and eyes. I had heard a rumor from Ruban that Renly was attracted to people of the male persuasion, but no one had confirmed that. I wouldn't care if he was or not, but some people found it sinful.

"I'll take that bet," Renly said with a smug look on his face.

"Now, what will I buy with a hundred Gold Dragons?" Littlefinger said as I turned my head around. "A dozen barrels of Dornish wine? Or a girl from the pleasure houses of Lys?"

"Or you could even buy a friend," Renly said, making me grin.

"He's going to die," Sansa said to her father. She was clearly still upset from Ser Hugh's death the day before.

"Ser Loras rides well," Ned reassured her.

I looked down the way and saw that Loras had put on an ornate and flashy helm. On the other end, the Mountain's horse had to be restrained by a squire while it stomped one of its front hooves.

Finally the fanfare was blown and both riders set off, lances at the ready. I grasped at my skirts and hoped no one else would be killed this time. Instead, Loras' lance hit the Mountain's, splintering it. With a loud whinny, the Mountain's horse fell on its side, knocking itself and its rider into the wooden fence that ran along the jousting field. I shoved my knuckles into my mouth while the crowd surrounding us gasped. The Mountain's horse got back on all four feet, while its rider struggled to get back up.

"Such a shame, Littlefinger," Renly said facetiously. "It would have been so nice for you to have a friend."

"And tell me, Lord Renly," Littlefinger fired back, "when will you be…having _your_ friend?"

Renly didn't respond, making me wonder if Littlefinger made a reference to one of Renly's male lovers.

"Loras knew his mare was in heat," Littlefinger whispered into Sansa and Ned's ears. "Quite crafty, really."

"Ser Loras would never do that. There's no honor in tricks," Sansa rebutted, as if she actually knew anything about Loras' moral compass.

"No honor. And quite a bit of gold," Littlefinger admitted.

The Mountain stood before us in the dirt, thrusting his helm off his sweaty head. He turned towards his squires and shouted for his sword, making me wonder what he was going to use his sword for. Was someone actually going to die?

Ser Loras didn't seem too worried, as he was parading around on his horse to the cheering crowd. He didn't even seem to realize that he was in any danger until after the Mountain's squire ran over to him with the largest sword I've ever seen in my life.

The Mountain pulled it out of its sheath, and as Ser Loras was bowing to the king, the Mountain raised his sword and chopped it into the horse's neck, nearly decapitating the animal in one fell swoop. I flinched, watching the horse's blood spray all over its former rider. Then the Mountain advanced on Ser Loras, ready to attack the shiny knight.

Ser Loras managed to block the swing with his shield, but ultimately fell off of his horse and onto the dirt. He rolled onto his haunches, but the Mountain swung at him again. Luckily, Loras was able to block him again, and again, his shield striped with horse blood from the Mountain's blade.

"Leave him be!" roared a voice I didn't expect to hear. I turned my head over my shoulder and saw Sandor running down the steps, unsheathing his own sword.

Sandor got between Loras and the Mountain, blocking his brother's next swing, allowing Loras to finally get to his feet and run away. The two brothers squared off, glaring at each other for a moment. Then the Mountain growled and started running at Sandor, raising his sword. Sandor managed to block him yet again, even swinging at his brother himself.

I covered my mouth with both hands and watched as the Mountain swung again, Sandor bending over backwards to dodge the blade. The two kept fighting and I found myself praying that Sandor would come out of it unscathed.

"STOP THIS MADNESS IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!" Robert shouted.

Sandor immediately got down on one knee, sword in the dirt. And he was lucky he bowed when he did because the Mountain's sword just barely missed his neck.

I didn't even realize that I was holding my breath until the clamor stopped and a hush fell over the crowd. I felt my bottom lip quiver as the Mountain threw his sword onto the ground and stormed off.

"Let 'im go!" Robert ordered to the two Kingsguard who had appeared on the field. They separated, letting the Mountain continue his warpath out of sight. The crowd on the ground didn't hesitate to split apart to let him go either.

I turned my attention back to Sandor, who was still on one knee. He looked up at the king, his expression seeming a little guilty, a little sheepish. He stood up and seemed like he was getting ready to accept his punishment for participating in the swordfight. But then Ser Loras came up to him.

"I owe you my life, Ser," Loras told him.

"I'm no _Ser_ ," Sandor grumbled, same as he had said to me in Winterfell.

Regardless, Loras grabbed Sandor's armored wrist and thrust it into the air. The crowd cheered and I suddenly found myself standing on my feet, clapping with Sansa—though I'm sure she was only clapping because _Loras_ was alive. I felt the warm, fuzzy feeling inside to a degree that it had never been before.

I caught Sandor's eye as he looked around the crowd. Clearly this was the first time anyone had ever cheered for him because he seemed uncomfortable. I held onto his gaze and felt my smile grow. I watched his good eyebrow twitch and then he looked away.


	12. The Harbor

**One more drink** ** _,_** _Sandor Clegane thought,_ and then off to Littlefinger's brothel to blow off steam.

 _He downed the rest of the mug in his large hand, relaxing against the back of his chair. He folded his hands over his armored stomach, feeling the weight of the Gold Dragons in his pocket._

 _Ser Loras of House Tyrell, Nance of the Flowers, had awarded his championship to Sandor after the latter had saved Lord Renly's "secret" lover from the wrath of his brother. Forty thousand Gold Dragons were given to Sandor for his "act of bravery and selflessness." Though Sandor really had been trying to do the right thing and save the young knight, he couldn't deny that he hoped to finally swing his blade into Gregor's throat._

 _"More ale," he barked at the timid barmaid who walked past him. He watched as she glanced at him with wide eyes and scuttled away, clearly trying to keep as far away from him as possible._

 _The door to the tavern opened and Sandor saw a familiar group of people led by a red-haired man enter the premises. After a moment, he realized they were the court musicians, or at least some of them. The four men came closer to the table in the corner where Sandor sat and found themselves at home two tables away._

 _"Is she going to meet us here?" said one of the men. He was the youngest of the group, a black-haired man with dark eyes. Sandor vaguely recognized him as a drummer._

 _"Said she would," the ginger shrugged. "Why? Is our company not good enough for you there, Sterlan?"_

 _"Aye, are we not pretty enough to grace yer presence, Sterl?" another man asked._

 _"I never said—"_

 _"You didn't have to," the fourth musician interrupted the red-faced drummer, a cheeky grin on his face. "Worry not, my feelings aren't hurt. I'd rather spend the night with a beauty like her than this lot of ugly fuckers."_

 _"Come now, Vernyn," the ginger smirked at the fourth musician. "We're not_ all _ugly fuckers."_

 _"You're right about that—the ugliest one of us by far has to be Elras over here," Vernyn jabbed his thumb at the third musician who spoke and their whole table erupted into laughter._

 _"Your ale," the timid barmaid tittered, handing Sandor a new mug before scampering away from him._

 _Sandor took a swig and continued to eye the table of musicians. The ginger leaned back in his chair, scratching at his beard, his fingers close to the jagged scar that ran down the entire side of his face._

 _"She_ is _coming, though, isn't she?" Sterlan asked once the table fell silent._

 _"I told you, she said she would," the ginger reminded him. "Said she might be late, but she'll make her way."_

 _"Good, good," Sterlan nodded._

 _"Planning on making any moves?" Vernyn nudged the drummer beside him with his meaty elbow._

 _"I can't imagine Fallon would be interested…" Sterlan trailed off._

 _Sandor's ears perked up and he took another swig of his ale. He had assumed they were talking about her, but for some reason the confirmation added a spot of pressure on his chest that he hadn't felt in a long time._

 _"Pretty girl like_ that _, pretty boy like_ you _," Elras ticked off his fingers. "Makes sense to me."_

 _"And we all know what a dumb fucker Elras is," Vernyn chortled._

 _"Thought I was an_ ugly _fucker?" Elras furrowed his brow._

 _"You're both," the ginger grinned._

 _The table laughed again and Sandor rolled his eyes. He decided to finish his drink as fast as he could so as to get away from that group of idiots. No amount of drink could make them less annoying._

 _"'Aps the reason she's late is she's trying to look her best for yeh, Sterl," Elras said. "Lots of girls do that, eh?"_

 _"How would you know?" Vernyn smirked._

 _"I'll 'ave you know I almost got married once."_

 _"To who? Your neighbor's hog?"_

 _Sandor drank the last of the ale and pulled out the coin pouch in his pocket. Unsure of how much he drank, he reached in and dropped a handful of Copper Pennies on the table, standing up to leave the tavern. With every step he took, patrons watched him, as if they were afraid he was going to snap and kill someone for breathing on him wrong._

 _That was more of his brother's motive, anyway._

 _Pushing on the door, Sandor left the building. He stepped onto the cobblestones in the dimly-lit streets of King's Landing. He passed more wide eyes as he went, knowing none of the inhabitants would ever think of trying anything with him. The perks of being big, mean, and strong…_

 _"Sandor?"_

 _Looking for the source of the voice, Sandor looked down at a hooded figure approaching him on the street. A pale arm snuck out from under a familiar-looking thick, gray cloak and pulled the hood down. Sandor felt his eyebrow twitch involuntarily when he saw the growing smile in the darkness. Fallon was still coming towards him, planting herself before him._

 _"It's lucky I found you. I, er, I wanted to congratulate you on your championship," she grinned. "I thought it was…quite noble of you to, er, to jump in and save Ser Loras."_

 _"Didn't do it to be_ noble _," Sandor responded, watching as Fallon's expression faded some. "Did it because it had to be done."_

 _"Oh, aye?" Fallon cocked a brow._

 _"Not many'll stand up to my brother," Sandor looked away from the young woman._

 _"I can imagine…"_

 _There was a silence between the two, but neither one moved from their spot. Fallon's eyes remained on Sandor, while he tried to find any other place to look. She clearly had overcome whatever it was that had made her upset with him on their travels—Sandor had honestly forgotten—and was back to her old habit of giving him more positive attention than he had ever gotten before saving the damned knight. So much that it felt uncomfortable._

 _Yet he was starting to feel that it wasn't entirely unwelcome._

 _"Your friends are waiting in there," he said, taking the first step forward. He noticed that Fallon pivoted to keep her eye on him._

 _"Join us," she spouted out suddenly._

 _Sandor stopped yet again and looked over his shoulder. He could tell she was still staring at him, waiting for him to reply. But he had no idea what to say._

 _"If you want," Fallon mumbled._

 _Before he really knew what he was doing or why, Sandor dug into his pocket and grabbed a Silver Stag from the pouch. He turned his upper body and thrust his hand under Fallon's chin._

 _"A round. On me," he said._

 _"You don't have to do that," she shook her head, never once glancing at the coin._

 _Sandor looked away, dropping the coin before walking off. After several steps, he looked over his shoulder yet again and saw Fallon crouching down to pick up the Silver Stag, her eyes still on him._

 _"Thank you," she called out._

 _Sandor kept walking as far away from her, heaving great sigh. The Seven only knew why she treated him the way she did… Hopefully one of Littlefinger's women would help keep his mind off of her and her bizarre behavior, if only for a little while._

* * *

I could never say that I disliked my fellow musicians. They had all welcomed me with open arms and ensured I felt comfortable in my new home. Though Ruban had his social limitations, he had proved to be a fine friend, and so allowed me to join the inner circle of him and three other musicians.

The three others were Vernyn, Elras, and Sterlan. Vernyn seemed a bit younger than Ruban and was a tall man with blonde hair. Elras was short and stout with dark brown hair and blue eyes spread far apart, quite like Theon's. Then there was Sterlan. He had curly dark hair and eyes, and a jawline that looked as if it were molded by the Gods.

They had invited me for drinks after supper that night and I agreed to join them because they made me laugh. Although I thoroughly enjoyed spending time with my fellow musicians, I couldn't stop thinking about Sandor that entire night. I hadn't expected to run into him outside of the Red Keep. And even less did I expect to him to offer me some of his own money. I could only imagine the alcohol he'd been drinking had something to do with the generosity.

As the night went on, drinks were poured, laughter was had, and wagers were made over who would beat each other in an uninterrupted fight betwixt the Clegane brothers. Elras was certain the Mountain would have prevailed, but Vernyn countered that Sandor was quicker and "more graceful, for lack of better word" than his brother. I had stayed mum, but found my smile widening whenever _the Hound_ was brought up. And every time I smiled, I felt Sterlan's eyes lock onto mine, as he was prone to do.

Sterlan was undeniably handsome; a fellow musician, he would have been a wonderful match. But any time he was around I felt nothing—no fluttering in the stomach, no flushing blood to the cheeks, no desire to steal glances. Seven hells, I felt more towards _Theon Greyjoy_ than I did for the drummer.

When I had decided to turn in for the night, Elras had volunteered Sterlan to walk me back to the Red Keep "to make sure I got 'ome safe." I wondered if this was a ploy to allow the two of us some time alone, but if it was, it was wasted. Though the two of us did share a moonlit walk back to the Red Keep, next to no words were spoken.

And when I closed the door to my chamber, I undressed and fell into bed, dreaming of Sandor and the Mountain finishing their battle, and Sandor looking into my eyes as he stood over the body of his defeated brother.

* * *

 _Sandor Clegane carried on his day with a pounding head. When he had arrived at Littlefinger's brothel the night prior, he had already been feeling the effects of the ale. After he had picked out a whore—decidedly one with blonde hair and dark eyes—he requested more drink, which she fetched for him. Every time she laid a hand on him to initiate what he was supposed to be paying for, he asked for more drink, until he found himself throwing Gold Dragons onto the floor and stumbling out of the room, leaving the fully-clothed whore confused. Confused and relieved._

 _When he had awoken, he cursed himself for drunkenly wasting his prize money and ending the night with a wet tongue and a dry cock. And for what payoff? Instead of blowing off the steam he had desperately needed to,_ both _of his heads were killing him._

Seven save the cunt who tests me today _, he had thought to himself as he went about his duties._

 _Fortunately, Joffrey hadn't needed much of Sandor, other than to stand outside his chamber while he was fitted for new clothing. Joffrey had eventually given his guard leave and Sandor didn't argue. If provoked, he couldn't promise that he wouldn't have cut down the royal boy. And what good would that do? His head would be chopped clean off his shoulders by Ilyn Payne._

Head can't hurt if it's not attached, though _, Sandor smirked to himself as he aimlessly wandered outside of the gate, watching as eyes averted him._

 _And though the relief a quick death would give him at the moment was sweet, he knew there was no way he was going to let himself get killed any time soon. He had too much hate inside of him, too much vengeance to attain; there were too many men living who didn't deserve to be, too little bloodshed._

 _Sandor's feet started to lead him in the direction of Blackwater Bay. He wasn't entirely sure why he was drawn to the harbor, as he rarely had any interest in ships or swimming. But there he was, at the top of a set of stairs that led down to the rocky beach._

 _And there_ she _was, standing in the water, her skirt bunched up to her knees. Her long, brown hair was blowing over her shoulder in the gentle breeze, showing her sunburnt skin. She took another step further out and the blue water sloshed halfway up her calves._

 _"Swimming back to Winterfell?" Sandor asked._

 _Fallon's body jolted and she whipped around to find who had barked at her. When she caught Sandor's eye as he descended the stairs, her cheeks filled with color and she smiled sheepishly._

 _"Am I in trouble for being here?" she asked._

 _"Only if yeh're skirting yer duties," Sandor touched down on the beach, not far from an abandoned pair of sandals, feeling how sweaty his back was. The closer he got to the water, the more he considered taking off his armor and diving in._

 _"I'm afraid the little lady needs me less and less every day," Fallon frowned, a hint of jest in her eyes. "And there's been no requests for music today. Ruban said I could explore for the time being."_

Ruban _, Sandor thought to himself, putting his hands on his hips._ That was the ginger nance's name.

 _"You don't seem particularly busy yourself," Fallon grinned. "Unless I really_ am _in trouble and you're here to lock me in the dungeons."_

 _Sandor didn't say anything. He just watched as she readjusted her grip on her skirt, lifting it a bit higher than it was. He glanced at her pale, bare legs sticking out of the water and wondered how someone who must have spent the better part of her life working for a noble family would dare such immodesty out in the open—not that he cared about things like that. In fact, he applauded her for not giving a fuck._

 _Fallon turned back around and stepped out further, up to her knees now. Sandor heaved a sigh and stared at the back of her head. She was a lot smaller than he expected her to be. When he first saw her in Winterfell, she was bundled up in furs, standing behind the Starks, in between Ned Stark's bastard and the ward from Pyke._

 _She had been straining to catch a glance at him and he knew there was no way she was aware he had seen her. He assumed it was his helm that intrigued her at first, but then she saw him at the feast that night, bare-faced, and had the stones to smile at him._

 _"Yeh go any further, yeh'll fall in," Sandor told her. "And I'm not jumping in to save yeh."_

 _As if calling his bluff, she threw her head over her shoulder and cocked a brow at him. "I know, there's a drop-off."_

 _"And how do yeh know that?" Sandor challenged, folding his arms across his armored chest._

 _"Well, other than my_ two eyes _," she smirked at him, "this isn't my first time in these waters. My mother taught me to swim here when I was young."_

 _Sandor furrowed his brow. He saw Fallon gulp and she turned fully around to take one step closer to shore._

 _"I was born in King's Landing," she started. "Lived here—er, in Flea Bottom—until shortly after my mother died. She used to take me here on hot days. Promised me some day we would swim to Essos and live in the Free Cities."_

 _Sandor took note of the pensive smile on her face before she turned her head to look back at the horizon._

 _"And I was foolish enough to believe her," Fallon looked back at him._

 _"Any man says he wasn't a fool as a child is a lying cunt," Sandor rolled his eyes._

 _Fallon looked at him with wonder in her eyes, as if she was surprised he would offer her such words of support. He was a little surprised that he had even said it out loud, himself._

 _"I suppose you're right," she murmured, taking another step closer. "Father used to tell her not to fill my head with such nonsense."_

 _Sandor noticed that she let go of her skirt with one hand to touch her hair, letting part of the seafoam green fabric skim the water as she made her way back to the rocky beach._

 _"Why did you go North?" he asked._

 _Fallon gulped again, pulling on a strand of her hair. "That's…a story for another day, I think."_

 _Sandor remained silent as she tip-toed across the rocks to her sandals. He watched as she bent down to strap them onto her feet and met her eye when she stood, letting her skirt flow freely._

 _"Good day, Sandor," she smiled at him and went past him to start climbing the stairs. Three steps up, she turned and looked at him one more time. "Thank you for not locking me in the dungeon."_

* * *

 **I hope you guys like this one, even though it's kinda short! I had the WORST writer's block these past couple of weeks, but then I had an epiphany in the shower for the last scene of Sandor and Fallon talking in the harbor. Again, I hope you like it!**

 **I promise things will get meatier soon. I have great plans for this story and I can't wait to get the ball rolling a lot faster. Just gotta keep setting things up, ya feel?**


	13. The Wineskin

**Holding my lute** to my chest, I dipped into a curtsy. I could hear a pair of hands clapping fervently and glanced up to see Princess Myrcella on her feet. The young girl with curly locks gave me a wide smile and I returned it. She really seemed like a sweet girl—unlike her mother, who was staring at me from behind an ornate goblet at a table in the corner of the chamber.

"That was beautiful!" Myrcella cheered as I stood up straight.

"Thank you, Your Grace," I bowed my head. "You're too kind."

"Will you play me 'Flowers of Spring', next?" she asked.

Before I could answer, Cersei got to her feet and put her goblet down. "Not tonight. It's time for bed, my sweet."

"One more, mother," Myrcella begged, her hands clasped together. "Please."

"It's best you listen to your mother, Your Grace," I bobbed my head, ignoring the queen's eyes on me. I offered the frowning princess another smile. "Call upon me tomorrow and I'll be happy to sing you whatever you please."

Myrcella nodded and sat back down on her bed. She looked over at her mother, but Cersei was still staring at me, a forced smile on her face.

"You're dismissed," Cersei said, flicking her wrist toward the door.

I curtsied yet again and left the chamber without another word. As soon as the door closed behind me, I breathed a heavy sigh of relief. I knew it was a risky maneuver to speak when I did, but I hoped Cersei would know I was only trying to help her out. She could have had me flogged for speaking out of turn, but she must not have wanted to upset Myrcella.

My heart was beating fast as I traveled down the stairs. Maybe I was just paranoid, but I couldn't help wondering if a royal guard was going to pop out of the next corridor and hurt me on behalf of the queen. As such, I practically ran back to my chamber.

I felt the bottom of my stomach fall out when I approached my door. The hallway was devoid of human life, the only moving things being the flames that lit the candelabra along the walls. But the door to my chamber was open ajar, a dim light pouring out through the doorway. And I wasn't expecting any late-night guests.

 _Relax, Fallon_ , I thought to myself. _Cersei couldn't have sent word to an assassin this quickly…right?_ I took a deep breath and braced myself to open the door and enter the room. _You can do this._ With shaking hands, I pushed open the door and poked my head in.

"Sandor?" I furrowed my brow, looking at the large man sitting on the edge of my bed.

He raised his head, half-shrouded in darkness, and met my gaze. I noticed that he wasn't wearing any armor at this moment, just a pair of taupe-colored trousers, black boots, and a dark gray shirt. And even without the armor, he still cut an impressive figure, making me feel very small.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, stepping in and letting the door close behind me.

"Waiting," he said, looking down at his wineskin.

"For what?"

"You."

" _Why_?"

"Enough with the questions, girl," Sandor grunted. "You ask too many."

"I wouldn't be asking so many questions if you would just explain yourself to me for once, instead of giving me one-worded answers or ignoring me outright," I pointed out.

Sandor glared at me, wiping my smirk away.

"Apologies," I murmured.

He sat there in silence for a moment, not moving. I took this time to place my lute down in my case, which sat on the chest at the foot of my bed. My feet then carried me off to the side, where I stood but a few paces away from Sandor, who was staring at a spot on the floor.

"Why aren't you afraid of me?" he finally asked, looking up at me from where he sat on my mattress. He gulped down more of his wine, even though it was clear he didn't need to drink any more.

"Sorry?" I stepped closer.

"You heard me, girl," he grumbled. But then, moments later, his eyes softened a bit. "I don't frighten yeh."

"Of course not."

"I should."

"And why's that?" I asked, taking another step towards him.

"'Ve done bad things," Sandor shrugged, taking another swig. "Hurt a lot of people."

"You won't hurt me," I replied softly.

"Yeh've no way of knowing that," he shook his head subtly.

"But I do," I smiled, reaching down to take his empty hand in both of mine.

Sandor looked down at our appendages and I felt a lump in my throat as I anticipated his reaction. I had no idea why I grabbed his hand, but I couldn't help feeling like it was the right thing to do, so I didn't let go.

"I trust you, Sandor," I said. "You may have done bad things, but I know you're a good man underneath it all."

He sighed and looked into my eyes as he put his wineskin on my bed beside him. Then he freed his other hand from my grip. He grabbed my arms halfway between my shoulders and my elbows and pulled me closer until I was standing between his tree-trunk thighs, my face very close to his—close enough that I could smell the drink on his breath. I was not much taller than him as he was sitting.

"Listen now and listen well," he said. "Yeh can't be putting your trust in everyone blindly. Not here."

I nodded quickly, feeling my insides fluttering madly at the close-proximity.

"Yeh're a kind woman," he said in a gruff voice. "It'll get you killed."

I gulped and nodded again.

Sandor's eyes stayed locked on mine for a few seconds, but then traveled down the length of my face. He took a deep breath and his eyes lingered on my mouth for another moment. I put my hands on his forearms and then he shook out his head.

Without a word, he nudged me back a step and stood up. I watched him stalk out of my chamber and wondered what would have happened had I not touched his arms. Would our lips have met? Or would he have gotten up anyway? I heaved a sigh and turned back to get ready for bed.

Sandor had left his wineskin on my mattress and I picked it up—empty, just as I was expecting. I held it to my chest, feeling the warmth from his large hand, and closed my eyes.

* * *

"How goes the water dancing?" I asked Arya, glancing at the bruises on her exposed skin.

"Syrio says I'm improving," she told me, splashing in the bathwater.

"Wonderful, wonderful," I murmured, running my comb through a strand of her dark hair. "Are you enjoying your time in King's Landing?"

Arya shrugged her scrawny shoulders. "I miss home," she replied in a quiet voice.

"As do I," I said.

"I miss Jon. And Robb. And everyone," she continued. "It isn't fair. Why did _Sansa_ have to be the only one who came with us?"

I grinned. "Well, little lady, I do regret being the first to tell you, but life isn't always fair."

Arya turned and gave me a look, recognizing the facetious tone in my voice.

"There must always be a Stark in Winterfell," I reminded her.

"So why couldn't Sansa stay?" Arya griped under her breath, making me chuckle.

"Your sister is to marry Prince Joffrey and join your house with the Baratheons. Before you say anything about how much you hate the boy and want to plunge your Needle into his heart, I need you to understand that if anyone hears you say that, you'll be executed for treason. It's very important to me that you know this," I said in a more serious tone.

Arya nodded her head slowly.

"…Doesn't mean you have to enjoy his company," I added with a shrug. "But he will be your brother by law. And one day he will be king. _Your_ king. Voices carry, sweet girl. I'd hate for yours to be stamped out."

* * *

After combing out Arya's knotted hair, I braided it and then tucked her into bed before returning to my own chamber. I removed my dress and redressed in a thin white nightgown. I stood before a mirror in the room and looked at myself. The nightgown exposed more of my skin than the seafoam green dress, leaving my back almost completely naked.

There was a loud rapping at the door and I jumped in surprise. I quickly stepped over and opened it, my eyes widening. There stood Sandor, covered in armor below the neck, staring down at me. I suddenly felt very aware of my state of undress and felt my cheeks heat up. I noticed his eyes wandering, and then his jaw clenching. He looked unhappy.

"Step aside," he said.

"Why?" I asked.

Sandor made to enter my chamber and I stepped out in front of him to try and block his path. I felt my heart racing, as I could only imagine that finding a way through me would be a simple task for him. I anticipated him shoving past me to come inside, but all he did was stop and stand still.

"You've already violated my privacy once by barging into my room when I was elsewhere," I said, hoping my nerves wouldn't make my voice shake. "You're not barging in again, unless you can give me a good enough reason to."

"Do not test me, girl," Sandor growled. "Step aside."

"Tell me what you need and I'll be happy to," I said in what I hoped was a calming tone.

It seemed to work a little. He heaved a great sigh and his fiery eyes softened around the edges. I felt my nerves dying down a bit when this happened.

"Yeh've something of mine," he grumbled like an embarrassed child caught in a lie.

"Have I?" I asked, crossing my arms over the low-cut front of the nightgown. "Are you sure you didn't lose it? As a wise man once told me, you should be more careful with your things…"

"Enough with the cheek. I can see the bloody wineskin on your table. Let me have it and be done with it."

I cocked my eyebrow up at him and felt a smirk growing on my face. Getting under his skin was quite entertaining, but I didn't feel like pressing my luck too much.

"Barge away," I opened the door wider and brandished the interior of my chamber.

Sandor came inside and immediately went past me. I followed him in, letting the door shut behind me while I went to sit on my bed. He lifted the wineskin to his lips and angled his head back as far as he could.

"It's empty," he said in an accusatory tone, eyeing me.

" _I_ didn't drink any of it, if that's what you're insinuating," I scoffed. "Do you even remember coming into my room last night? You were absolutely shitfaced."

Sandor breathed in deeply and looked down at me. "Aye, I remember."

"I'd never seen you without your armor before," I said quietly.

"Yeh say that like yeh've known me for more than two months," Sandor rolled his eyes at me.

"Wouldn't really say I _know_ you either," I murmured.

He stared blankly at me, not moving a muscle. Yet again I felt small under his gaze, like a mouse under the gaze of a cat. Or a _hound_.

"I suppose that's by design, though," I mused, leaning back on my elbows and putting one foot on the edge of the mattress. "The less anyone knows about you, the better."

Sandor's eyes flickered away from mine for a brief moment when he glanced at my knee sticking up in the air. He breathed in deeply yet again, filling out his body and making him look even bigger than he already was.

"Unfortunately for you, I'm very nosy," I continued. "I would imagine you've gathered that by now. But what I don't understand is why you allow me to pester you."

"The fuck you talking about?" Sandor furrowed his brow.

"You're a _big_ fucker and, from what I can imagine, you're tough to kill. I'm a _little songbird_. You wear two enormous swords on your person at all times. I play the lute. If you _really_ wanted to stop me from annoying you about what your name is or what have you, you would have done something about it long ago," I smirked.

Sandor considered my words and put his hands on his hips. "Yeh're very smart, aren't you? Yeh think yeh've got me all figured out, eh?"

"Am I wrong?" I cocked my head.

"Yeh're as annoying as yeh say you are; that we've got understood," he sighed, leaning back against my wall.

I grinned up at him and lifted myself back to a sitting position. "If I annoy you so much, then why haven't you left yet?"

Sandor shifted his eyes to the side for what felt like a very long moment and then looked back at me.

"Tell me why you came North."

I felt as if someone had poured ice down my throat and into my stomach. Curling my body up, I hugged my knees to my chest with one hand and clutched a large strand of hair in my other. I took a deep breath and shook my head.

"It's…not a happy story," I warned him.

"Do I look like a bloody child who can't sleep?" he retorted.

"No, of course not," I shook my head, a faint smile tugging at my lips. I gulped down the lump in my throat and pulled on the strand of hair in my hand. "I was born in Flea Bottom. My parents owned a tavern and my mother played and sang for the patrons sometimes."

Sandor readjusted himself against the wall and folded his arms across his armor.

"After my fifth nameday, she fell ill and never quite recovered," I continued. "Neither did my father."

I saw my companion's good brow twitch. He narrowed his eyes ever so slightly and I felt even smaller than before. I looked away from him and stared at my kneecaps.

"He, er, started acting strangely towards me. As I look back now, I wonder if he had always been this way…and my mother was the guiding force that kept him away from this behavior, if only for a little while. You see, my father…he, er, had a certain predilection for l-little girls with sh-short hair," I choked out, feeling Sandor's heavy gaze.

"He m-made me stay in his bed with him," I added. "The cot I had slept on before was not to be used anymore. He had told me it was my mother's dying wish, for the cot to be left be. And I was foolish enough to believe him…"

"Any man says he wasn't a fool as a child i—"

"Is a lying cunt, yes, I remember," I cut Sandor off, pulling all of my hair over one shoulder, running my fingers through it. "And yet I still feel like the biggest idiot in the Seven Kingdoms. Like it's all my fault that it happened."

Sandor's eyes were burning holes into my forehead. I glanced up at him and saw that his face looked angrier than when I last saw him. I briefly wondered if my interruption had enraged him. But then a small part of me wondered if he was angry _for_ me.

"In the room, against the wall, there was a hole small enough for a child to crawl through. The hole was very shallow…and it led to nowhere. But there was a tapestry that my mother had made to cover it up. When my father would drink, I would steal money from him and stash it in that hole.

"I would also hide in there when my father would come home. On occasion he would be too drunk to look for me, so I would sleep in there. It was uncomfortable, but it was better than the alternative," I said as I wiped away a tear from my eye and tugged at my hair with shaking hands.

"One day I had gone outside to th-the harbor. I watched a ship leaving and prayed to the Seven that it would turn around and someone would whisk me away. Or that my mother would put in a good word for me with the Maiden and that I would be granted the ability to swim to Essos, just like my mother promised me we would do.

"As I was walking away from the water, I saw a caravan arriving at the gate. Traveling actors or mummers or whatever you will," I smiled bitterly at Sandor. "They were attempting to enter the gates and show the Mad King their new play, but they were turned away. Instead, they set up in Flea Bottom, hoping to scrounge up whatever they could.

"Seeing my only way out, I ran to my home, knowing my father was at the tavern. I grabbed the lute my mother had made for me before she died and filled it with every coin I had stolen from my father. I ran to the actors as they set up their stage and begged them to take me along, emptying out my lute at their feet. They asked me to play a song for them, so I did, and then they had me pick up the coins that had fallen on the ground. They told me that they were traversing the entire continent of Westeros and that they would take me as long as I proved useful.

"I made it all the way to Winterfell, where I caught the eye of Lord and Lady Stark. They must have seen something in me…or perhaps their daughter Lyanna did, because they bought me as a servant from the actors," I shrugged, looking up at the guard before me. "I hope that answered your question."

Sandor had a grave look on his face. I could tell that he was clenching his jaw as he stared down at me. I glanced at the pommel of the sword at his hip, wondering what kind of damage that could do. Right next to the sword was a dagger, much like the one my father used to cut my hair with. I gulped and raised my eyes back to Sandor.

"I told you it wasn't a happy story," I muttered, chewing on my lip.

A thick silence fell over us. The knot in my throat grew larger and I squeezed my knees closer to my chest.

"Your father. He still breathing?" Sandor finally asked.

"I have no way of knowing," I said, repeating what I had said to him in the kitchens of Winterfell the last time he had asked.

"His name?"

"G-Gannon," I stammered, my body feeling icy yet again. "That's all I know."

Sandor considered this for a moment and stood up straight. He took a deep breath and stared deeply into my eyes, as if trying to communicate something to me. Then, without another word, he nodded his head to me and walked out of the door.


	14. Catharsis

**"Your pitch was** off, Elras," Ruban said as we left Prince Tommen's chamber.

"Fuck off," Elras spat. "Been preoccupied lately. 'Snot my fault my _pitch_ was off."

"Preoccupied with what? Fucking hogs?" Vernyn elbowed the other musician.

"'S a matter of fact, I've been thinkin' of marryin' my girl," Elras countered.

"You've got a girl?" Sterlan asked.

"I _do_ , not that iss any of _your_ concern."

"Does she walk on four cloven feet?" Vernyn smirked.

"I'm warnin' yeh, Vern, yeh say another thing about hogs an' I'll restring Fallon's lute with yer innards," Elras threatened.

"I didn't realize you had a girl," I grinned at the annoyed musician. "Tell me about her."

"She's as beautiful as beautiful gets," Elras sighed. "Even more beautiful than the queen and her bloody brother."

"Careful," Sterlan murmured. "Wouldn't want the wrong person to hear you say that and have you executed for treason."

"See if I bloody care," Elras scoffed. "I'd die a million deaths just to glance at Sadie once."

"Have you even met her?" Ruban asked.

"Course I have!"

"Where did you meet her?"

"She bloody works in the kitchens. Went down to sneak a bite and she caught me. Love at first sight, it was."

"She blind, then?" Vernyn cackled.

Elras thrust his psaltery into Sterlan's arms and grabbed Vernyn by the scruff of his shirt and shoved him into the corridor wall.

"One more word, cocksucker, an' I'll make sure it's yer last," Elras growled.

Vernyn's eyes widened and he nodded fervently. None of us expected Elras to lose his temper in such a way. Sterlan glanced back at me to catch my eye.

"Must be serious about this Sadie, then," Ruban said, patting Elras on the back to calm him down. "When do we get to meet this lucky woman?"

Elras took a deep breath and let go of Vernyn, turning around to grab the psaltery back. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders back.

"I'll need someone to play at the wedding, won't I?" he grinned, showing that he was back in better spirits.

* * *

"Nearly lunch time," Ruban said once we arrived at the musicians' quarters. "And it appears to me that we're in dire need of a morale booster, so as to prevent any death threats." The redhead gave Elras a sidelong glance. "Why don't we have a troupe luncheon in my room once we've all put our instruments away?"

"Sounds lovely," I nodded.

"Run to your girl, eh?" Ruban elbowed Elras. "Perhaps we shall meet her before you ask for her hand."

"Don't mind 'f I do," Elras smirked, dipping into his chamber to put his psaltery away before hurrying down to a secret stairway that I recently learned led down to the kitchens.

"I shall see you at lunch, then," Ruban bowed his head to Sterlan and then to me, giving Sterlan a knowing glance before entering his own chamber, Vernyn following his lead..

"And then there were two," Sterlan said.

"Mm," I nodded, looking into his dark eyes.

"Would, erm, would you be opposed to me being your escort to the luncheon?" he asked.

"It's less than ten steps away from my own room," I pointed out.

"Right, right," Sterlan sighed and looked at his feet. "Forget I even asked."

"Thank you very much for the offer, though," I said, putting my hand on his arm.

Sterlan looked at my hand and then back at me. _Gods, he's nice to look at_ , I couldn't help thinking. He opened his mouth to say something when a heavy pair of footsteps came down the corridor.

My hand dropped from his arm when I saw Sandor heading towards us, his face stoic as per usual. His eyes locked onto mine and I felt a sense of guilt that I didn't quite understand. I didn't _belong_ to Sandor by any means. I could put my hand on whomever I chose, I could think someone was handsome if I wanted to, and yet I still felt guilty when he saw me touching Sterlan.

"Seven blessings, Sandor," I said, dipping into a curtsy.

"You know _the Hound_?" Sterlan muttered.

"Yeh need to come with me, girl," Sandor said in a low, but urgent voice.

"What business do you have with Fallon?" Sterlan held his arm in front of me, as if he needed to protect me.

"Nothing that involves you," Sandor told him, stepping closer to the drummer before me.

"Sterlan, please do me a favor and put my lute away for me," I said, grabbing his wrist and gently pushing it down.

"You're really going off with him?" Sterlan asked me.

"Thank you, Sterlan. I greatly appreciate your friendship," I forced a smile and handed him my lute.

"Fallon," the other musician furrowed his brow at me. Instead of responding, I turned and walked towards Sandor.

"Where are we going?" I asked in a quiet voice, feeling Sterlan's eyes on the back of my head as we headed down the corridor.

"Yeh'll see when we get there," Sandor muttered.

* * *

Not a word was spoken as he led me out of the Red Keep. Not a word was spoken as he led me past the guards at the gate. Not a word was spoken as we entered Flea Bottom. Not a word was spoken as we passed the harbor. Not a word was spoken as we crossed Gin Alley. Not a word was spoken until we came upon the small house beside a rundown tavern that clearly hadn't been inhabited in years.

"How did you find it?" I breathed, turning around to look Sandor in the eye.

"Found the right rats. Made 'em squeak," Sandor shrugged. "Go in."

"I don't know if I can," I shook my head, hugging myself.

"Yeh trusted me enough to tell yer story. Trust me now."

Taking a deep breath, I nodded and turned around. Mustering up as much courage as I could, I stepped towards the house. I noticed that the door was open ajar and I looked over my shoulder at Sandor. He bobbed his head, nonverbally telling to keep going.

I pressed on the wood and the door creaked open, revealing the dusty, unkempt interior of the house. Trying to swallow the lump in my throat, I entered the living space. Empty bottles littered the floor, a broken chair lay on its side in a dark corner. But what really put a chill in my bones was another door across the way from me.

My heart was beating so rapidly that it was all I could hear; not my thoughts, not my footsteps. I honestly had no idea if Sandor had even followed me in or not. As far as I was concerned, I was the only person walking through the small house.

I clutched at my hair as I stepped towards the door. It was also open a slight bit. With every step I could smell the rancid stench in the air. Flea Bottom notoriously smelled like shit and whatever lay in the next room smelled particularly awful. Taking a deep breath through my mouth, I raised one hand to push the door open. What I saw caused my feet to be rooted to the spot. My eyes widened and my lips trembled.

There was my father. He was gray-haired and bloated, but I still knew it was him. His motionless body was sprawled out on his bed in the room, the floor covered in hair trimmings. His eyes were closed, but his mouth was hanging open. His arms had both reached down to his stomach, his hands covering a bloodstain on his roughspun shirt.

I stepped back, bumping into something hard and metallic. I whipped around and saw that Sandor had, indeed, followed me inside. He looked into my eyes and I felt my breath hitch. I felt tears prick at my eyes and I tried to blink them away, taking another deep breath.

I turned around and stepped closer to the bed, noticing a smear of blood on my father's trouser leg, no doubt where the blade that penetrated him had been cleaned off. Under his hands, I could vaguely see two stab wounds in his stomach, blood seeping out between his fingers.

Suddenly, my father hacked a loud cough, startling me. His cold gray eyes fluttered open, but he only stared up at the ceiling.

"Yeh come back to finish me off, blaggard?" he rasped out. Then his eyes snapped over to me. He blinked and seemed to have a moment of recognition. "You."

I stared at him, my stomach roiling inside.

"Thought yeh'd died long ago, Fallon. When yeh ran away. Thought someone would've taken yeh from the streets and fooked yeh bloody like I would'a done 'ad I found yeh."

The tears started pricking at my eyes again and I looked away from him, noticing something on the bedside table.

"Yeh've grown out yer 'air. Yeh know papa likes it when yer 'air is short."

Without a second thought, I grabbed the dagger from the table and gripped it tightly in my hand.

My father let out a labored cackle. "Yeh're gonna kill me, eh? Go on. Do it."

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, listening to the sound of Sandor's feet coming up behind me.

"Ah, I imagine it was _you_ 'oo sent this bloody dog to attack me. Unfair, it was. Breaks into a man's 'ouse when 'e's asleep an' chokes 'im a bit. Then bloody stabs 'im in the belly an' doesn't 'ave the fookin' courtesy to finish 'im off outright."

I opened my eyes when Sandor grabbed my arm from behind me. He guided my hand over to my father's chest and leaned into my ear.

"That's where the heart is," he told me, letting go and stepping back.

"I…I don't think I can," I choked out.

"Just bloody do it," my father seethed, staring at me with wild eyes.

I gathered up as much strength as I could and I raised the dagger. Before my father could say another word, I plunged the knife into his heart. My father grunted loudly, his head falling back onto the pillow. I pulled out the dagger and watched as the blood poured out of his chest. I locked eyes with my father, seeing the light go out.

I dropped the dagger on the bed and stepped back into Sandor's chest once more, this time on purpose. Overcome with a hundred different emotions, I turned around and sobbed into his armor, covering my face with my shaking hands to cushion myself against him. After a moment, he awkwardly placed a hand on the back of my head, as if to comfort me as best he knew how. I couldn't imagine he was often in the position of comforting others, so I appreciated this effort more than he probably knew.

"Was that yer first kill?" Sandor asked once I backed away.

"Aye," I said in a shaky voice. "And hopefully only."

"The world is full of killers," he told me, pulling out a kerchief from his pocket and handing it to me so I could wipe my tears with it. "Better to kill than be killed."

I regarded him in silence, shaking my head. "I don't know how you can do this so often. Take someone's life. Th-This man, my own father, made my childhood a living hell and I could only barely bring myself to kill him."

"Killing is the sweetest thing there is, girl. Not songs and hair-braiding," Sandor told me.

"Back in Winterfell, I used to strap a knife to my leg in case someone tried to hurt me. I thought it would be so easy to kill someone in self-defense," I shivered, handing him back his kerchief. "But there he was…just lying there…"

"Kept him alive for yeh," Sandor admitted. "Wanted to finish him, but I thought the deed need be done by you."

I considered his words for a moment and started to feel as if I had done the right thing. A wave of warmth crested over me and I knew that this chapter of my life was all but over.

"I thank you for that," I gave him a bitter smile. "You've provided me with closure, Sandor. I hope one day I can repay you."

He nodded his head to me and turned to leave. I stepped over towards the bed and looked at my father one last time, swallowing the lump in my throat.

"You'll never hurt another girl. You'll never haunt my dreams again. I won't pray that the gods have mercy on your soul. If there's any justice in this shit world, you'll burn in hell," I muttered over his body. "I'm not sorry."

* * *

"Where were you? We were supposed to have lunch," Ruban furrowed his brow at me.

"Forgive me, I'm not feeling very well," I shook my head, putting my hands on my stomach.

"Were you ill before or after you ran off with the Hound?" Ruban grabbed his hips, filling out my doorway with his body.

He had come out of his chamber the moment I opened my door and demanded to speak to me before I could take two steps into my own room.

"Sterlan told me everything."

"Please don't be upset with me," I begged. "You wouldn't understand."

"I've lived in the Red Keep long enough to understand what goes on around here. I've seen him come to your room two different nights. And now this. Spare me the details, Fallon, but I hope his cock was better than a nice luncheon with your fellows," he spat.

I suddenly felt the urge to strike Ruban across the face, but managed to suppress it.

"If you knew _anything_ of what I've been through," I shook my head.

Ruban's mouth opened, but I cut him off.

"I didn't abandon my fellows for _anyone_ 's cock, not that it's _any_ of your concern whether I did or not. It absolutely breaks my heart that you think that little of me. You were the first friend I made in King's Landing, and to think that you and Sterlan are slandering me in such a way…" I choked out. "I don't need it and I don't deserve it."

"Fallon, I…" Ruban's face softened.

"I'm terribly sorry that Sandor cared enough to help put my demons to rest," I said sarcastically, wiping away a brimming tear before it could fall. "For if not, maybe I could have attended your _lunch_ and left with my reputation intact."

"Fal—"

And with that, I slammed the door shut on Ruban. After locking it I fell to my knees, sobbing into my hands for the second time that very day. I cried until I couldn't cry anymore, until every single emotion I had felt that day—hatred, anger, sorrow, disgust, fear, guilt, gratification, peace—had washed away.

"Fallon?"

I looked over my shoulder and saw Arya crawling out from under my bed, a cat scurrying out as well and climbing on top of my scribe table. She stared at me with wide, glassy eyes.

"Syrio told me to catch the…" she glanced at the cat, then back to me. "I didn't mean to…" She gulped. "Are you alright?"

I looked at the cat, watching as it curled up on the table and fell asleep. I envied the cat. It had no worries, no peers to answer to, no reputation to hold up, nothing to do except sleep, eat, and run away from little girls.

"I couldn't tell you at this very moment, sweet child," I shook my head. "But I think I will be."

* * *

I know some of you were probably expecting Sandor to kill the father, but I've had it in my head that Fallon would deliver the final blow since before I even started writing this story out.

P.S. Thank you all for your kind reviews-they make writing this story that much more worth it! I greatly appreciate every single one

P.P.S. December 4, 2018: I've been going through and making a few edits-nothing major, just changing certain terms I made a mistake on. I've also changed Saydee's name to Sadie because that was bothering me, haha


	15. Candles in the Night

**"Father is still** recovering," Arya said, popping a grape into her mouth. "Septa Mordane said he should be on his feet in no time."

"Pardon?" I chirped.

"You didn't hear?" she furrowed her brow at me. "It happened days ago."

"In all fairness, I've been busy, sweet child."

"Mother took the Imp prisoner—"

" _Lord Tyrion_ ," I cut in, giving her a look.

Arya sighed. "Mother took _Lord Tyrion_ prisoner, so Jaime Lannister cornered father and had his men kill some of ours," she said solemnly. "He killed Jory."

My heart ached at those last few words. Jory Cassel was a kind man who didn't deserve his fate.

"One of Jaime's men put a spear through father's leg," Arya continued. "But Septa said he'll be fine."

"Seven save him," I murmured, picking at the mutton before me at the table in Arya's chamber. "Forgive my ignorance, little lady, but why did your mother take Lord Tyrion prisoner?"

Arya scrutinized me, her fork halfway up to her mouth. "Father didn't tell you?"

"I haven't seen Lord Stark in some time," I shrugged. "I told you, I've been busy."

My charge bounced her eyebrows and bit the meat off her fork. "Someone hired an assassin to kill Bran when he was still asleep."

"And Lady Catelyn thinks it was Lord Tyrion?" I cocked my head. "Thought doesn't seem right to me. He's kind. Well, _more_ kind than the rest of his family, I suppose. But still, he doesn't strike me as the type to do such a thing. Why would your mother think that?"

Arya shrugged as well, making a face. "Septa Mordane wouldn't tell me anything else. I figured I'd get the rest from you."

"Apologies," I smiled sheepishly at her. "I've been far too busy singing for princesses to hear these sorts of things."

"And making friends with the Hound," Arya said in an icy tone.

"Pardon?" I replied, taken aback.

"I heard what that man said. You're running off with him. He's visiting your room," Arya said to me. "He killed Mycah."

"Yes, he did," I nodded. "And it was awful of him to do so. But he did it on the orders of the queen."

"Mycah was innocent."

"I know, sweet child."

"Then why are you defending him?"

She was angry, this I could tell. But there was something else in her voice—heartbreak. It hurt me deeply to know that my relationship of sorts with Sandor had upset her so. But I wouldn't apologize for it.

"You're young, Arya," I said quietly. "You think everything is black and white, but I'm afraid that there is a lot of gray between those colors."

"What do you mean?" she asked, a fire still in her eyes.

"You'll understand when you're older, sweet child. He's a good man. He's done unspeakable things. But he's a good man," I told her.

Arya looked down at the table for what felt like forever. Then she turned her eyes to me and said something that chilled me to my bones.

"I'm going to kill him."

* * *

Elras, Ruban, and I harmonized on the last line of the fourth song King Robert had requested of us that night. Our troupe was performing for the King and a few of his lords, including a balding Red priest and several whores, while they drank and made merry.

"Bloody brilliant, aren't they?" King Robert cheered, slapping the ass of the scantily-clad woman on his lap. "Aren't they, Dondarrion?"

"Aye, Your Grace," said the sandy-haired Beric Dondarrion, raising his goblet to me.

I could feel both Ruban and Sterlan's eyes on me, but I refused to acknowledge them. I was still upset about what had happened the day prior. Sterlan had muttered an apology before we entered the chamber, but I chose to ignore it. Ruban just stared at me with sad eyes.

"And you?" Robert looked at the whore in his arms. "What do you think, my sweet?"

"I think it's time your friends left us alone, that's what I think, Your Grace," she smirked before kissing the tip of the king's nose.

"Yeh heard the girl," Robert chortled, addressing everyone without looking away from the woman. "Leave us alone."

"Of course, Your Grace," one of the drunken lords said. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

King Robert grabbed the whore's face and began kissing her sloppily as everyone filed out of the chamber. We all began walking down the corridor, each of us on our way back to our rooms.

"A word, Fallon?" Ruban tapped my shoulder. But before I could plan my retort, someone else walking just ahead of me started speaking.

"A shame this night had to end so abruptly," said the Red priest in his lazy, breathy voice. "I have so much rum left over." He lifted his wineskin to his mouth and took a swig.

"For a priest, you drink quite a bit, Thoros," another lord said.

"The night is dark and full of terrors. The drink helps me cope with said terrors," Thoros shrugged his shoulders. "That's what I tell myself, anyways."

"Fallon, my dear, I must apologize," Ruban said in a loud whisper, quickening his pace to keep up with me. "I grossly overreacted and I'm deeply sorry for it. Please, if you'll just hear me out—"

"I have nothing to say to you at this moment," I interrupted, glaring at him.

"Please…"

I sped up and found myself beside Thoros. He turned his head to look at me and I glanced back at him. He had a scraggily, dark blonde beard and kind, blue eyes—the kind that made me feel as though I could trust him right away. His scarred forehead was wrinkled and his hairline had receded well past it. What remained of his hair was long and shaggy, almost hanging to his shoulders.

"Forgive me for staring, my darling, but you look in need of a drink," he said.

"I'm certainly in need of _something_ ," I told him, chuckling bitterly.

"Here. Consider this a favor from a new friend," Thoros handed me his wineskin and let me take a sip of the sweet rum.

"Thank you," I said, handing it back to him.

"Thoros of Myr," he introduced himself.

"Pleasure to meet you, Thoros of Myr. My name is Fallon."

"You sing beautifully, Fallon," Thoros told me with a smile.

"You're very kind," I replied as we began descending a spiral staircase.

"I'm only speaking the truth," he assured me. "You play quite well with your men. Even though there's clearly strife amongst you."

"You heard?" I cocked a brow back to where Ruban and the others were walking.

Thoros tapped his nose and handed me the wineskin again.

"I can't seem to make anyone happy these days," I took another drink, feeling the rum burn at the back of my throat. "What's in that, molasses?"

"Blackstrap. I try to stock up as much I can. Very hard to come by," Thoros mused. "Do you not like it?"

"I've only ever had ale and wine," I admitted. "I think I like this, though."

"I had a feeling you were a smart one," Thoros grinned, wagging his finger at me. "I don't believe I'm ready to end my night just yet. What say you and I go into town, have us some more rum, and then we can have a nice chat?"

"A nice chat? About what?" I questioned.

"About what's bothering you. About anything else. About fire. About life. About our newfound friendship. About rum," he ticked off his fingers. "Whatever you want to chat about."

I considered his words and felt a smile tugging at my lips. I barely knew him, but he seemed nice enough. Maybe I was being foolish. Maybe I was desperate to hear nice things. Or maybe he really was as nice as he seemed and I was as excellent a judge of character as I had always thought I was. There was only one way to find out.

"You've got yourself a deal, Thoros of Myr."

* * *

"A flaming sword, you say?" I echoed, my right eyebrow as high up as could be.

"That's what they tell me," Thoros put his hands in the air. "Don't much remember it."

"What _do_ you remember of the Siege of Pyke?" I raised the mug of rum to my lips.

Thoros cocked his head to the side, giving me a sheepish grin. "Waking up the next morning."

"You were _that_ drunk?" I asked incredulously, feeling the effects of all the rum I had ingested taking over. "Seven hells…"

"See, now, dear Fallon, that is where you and I differ in opinion," he slurred. "You think there are seven hells. I say that's too many. Lord of Light agrees with me. One hell. One god."

"Tell me more about this Red God of yours," I said, taking another swig.

"Are you interested in converting, Fallon?" Thoros leaned across the table.

"Pft," I rolled my eyes. "I hardly believe in my own gods as it is."

"Maybe that's a sign you should re-evaluate."

"An excellent salesman, you are. No wonder it was you who was sent to convert the king," I snickered. "How has that been going? I haven't seen the Sept of Baelor in ruins yet."

"These things take time," Thoros leaned back in his seat at the tavern we were sitting in.

"And you've spent how much time drinking with the king instead?" I grinned, feeling the dizziness that libations bring on. "Go on, Thoros of Myr, tell me about your Lord of Light. Perhaps you'll turn me around and your god won't damn me to hell."

"You're already in it," Thoros shook his head. "This earth that we live on, _this_ is hell."

"Makes sense to me," I muttered into my mug.

"By adhering to R'hllor, He'll save you from the darkness. Not your Maiden, your Mother, your Warrior…"

"R'hllor? The Fire God? The Red God? The Lord of Light?" I counted on my fingers. "For one god, He sure has a lot of names."

Thoros gave me an unimpressed look and then slowly leaned over the table. He looked at the candle between us and stared into the tiny flame burning on the wick. Meanwhile, I finished off my mug of rum and crossed my legs under the table.

"I think He's telling me something," Thoros murmured.

"What is it?" I narrowed my eyes at him.

"He says…" Thoros leaned closer to the flame, "…that you'll pay for our drinks this night."

I covered my face with my hand and started laughing. "That seems sacrilegious, does it not?"

Thoros gave me a toothy grin, showing me his uneven chompers. "It's all bollocks anyway."

"Funny thing for a priest to say," I raised my brow again. "Especially one who just tried to convert me."

"I try to believe, sweet Fallon, I really do," Thoros shook his head. "But my faith has been waning. It's becoming increasingly difficult to practice what I preach."

"Maybe it's all a test from your Fire God," I shrugged. "I've been told the gods like to test us. Perhaps it's the same with yours."

"Perhaps," he swayed his head back and forth. "Let's change the subject. I do find religion to be a boring subject when I'm drinking."

"You may be the worst priest I've ever met," I grinned.

Thoros chuckled, tapping his forehead and flicking his wrist in a salute to me.

"Now, onto other topics of conversation, my dear," he leaned back in his seat yet again. "Do you have a family?"

"The closest I have to family is the family who bought me as a servant when I was a child," I told him. "The Starks have always been kind—they never treated me like the lowborn scum I am. Little Arya is like a sister to me, but I don't think she's very happy with me at the moment."

"Isn't it common that sisters fight?"

"Well, yes, but it's more than petty arguments," I explained. "She's, er, upset about some of the company I keep."

"You _are_ sharing drinks with the _worst priest you've ever met_ ," Thoros grinned at me.

"Yes, well, you haven't killed one of her friends, have you?" I smiled bitterly.

"Not yet, no," he shook his head slowly.

"It was deplorable. I'd never condone what he did. But…I understand why he did it. He was under the queen's orders. What else was he supposed to do? Take a moral stand? He'd get his head chopped off," I babbled.

"Forgive me, but may I ask who you're speaking of?" Thoros cut me off.

"Sandor Clegane," I told him.

" _Clegane_?" Thoros repeated. "You're friends with _the Hound_?"

"I'm not sure if _friends_ is the right word, but—"

"But you're fond of him," Thoros stated, as if he knew for a fact.

"What?" I chirped.

"He means something to you. I can see it in your eyes."

"He…he…"

"He's a grouchy old bear, that's what he is."

"Sandor has done me several kindnesses over the short time I've known him. He's helped me in a way that I'll never forget. If only Arya could see the good in him like I can. Then maybe she would understand," I frowned, looking at the empty mug in front of me.

Thoros stared at me for a moment and then pulled his hair back into a bun at the back of his head. He dug into his pocket, pulling out a coin purse. He plucked out a few coins and left them on the middle of the table.

"Fallon, might I interest you in a proposition?" he asked.

"Depends on what it is," I responded.

"I've just thought of a way that you might help me regain my faith in the Lord of Light…"

* * *

"Remember," he said, taking his empty wineskin back from me, "all you have to do is let the candle lead you."

"This is ridiculous, Thoros. No amount of rum is going to change my opinion of this," I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

The two of us were standing in the bowels of the Red Keep, both of us holding onto candles. Thoros had allowed me to finish off the rest of his drink in order for me to let him carry out the test, but I still had my reservations.

"We practiced this in my temple in Myr. By the grace of the Lord of Light, the candle will lead you to where you truly want to go, my sweet," he whispered.

"And what if it goes out and leaves me alone in the dark?"

"Then perhaps darkness is where you want to be."

Thoros smirked and took my candle out of my hands. He started murmuring something in a language I had never heard spoken before me. High Valyrian, I believe it was.

"…For the night is dark and full of terrors," he finished in the Common Tongue, then handed the candle back to me. "I'll be waiting to hear where it led you."

"Hopefully to my own bed," I yawned.

Thoros bowed his head to me and backed up a few paces before he pinched out his own candle.

I sighed and decided to keep an open mind. I closed my eyes for a moment and suddenly felt the urge to start walking. My eyes snapped open and I wondered if this was really the Lord of Light guiding me or just my own instinct.

Whatever it was, it led me up two flights of stairs and down several corridors. The castle was silent except for my footsteps. I could only imagine how late it was if everyone was asleep—save, no doubt, for the guards who stood outside the king and queen's chambers throughout the night.

I entered another corridor, one with many doors along its wall. I could see a thin line of light pouring out from under some of these doors, indicating that not everyone was asleep as I had thought. I noticed how the flame on the candle in my hands glowed brighter with every step I took, its heat growing warmer against my body with every door I passed. But then I got to one door and the flame glowed even brighter than before, making me stop in my place. The candle became so hot that I had to drop it, but it extinguished before it even hit the ground with a _thud_.

"Fuck," I said louder than I had intended to, kneeling down to try and grab the candle.

As I skittered my hands along the stone floor, noticing the light coming out from underneath the door. And before I could even take a breath, I saw a pair of feet blocking out the candlelight. The door swung open and the bottom of my stomach fell out.

"The fuck are you doing?!"

* * *

 _Sandor Clegane had just decided to blow out his candles and fall into bed when he'd heard the noise. Something had fallen outside of his chamber and someone had sworn—someone who clearly didn't want their head anymore._

 _He bounded to his door and thrust it open before the unlucky cunt could run away. Sandor was ready to make this person pay for their disturbance._

 _"The fuck are you doing?!" he hissed into the darkness._

 _But then he looked down and was taken aback by who he saw kneeling down on the floor, frozen as she tried to grasp onto the broken candle before her. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was hanging open. Her long, brown hair was hanging over one of her shoulders and grazing the floor. Her cheeks were red and he wondered if it was embarrassment or if she had been drinking. Her eyes were bloodshot, it wasn't a bad assumption to think the second—though he had a feeling it was more of both._

 _"Please forgive me," she finally said, sitting up on her heels and clasping her hands together as if she were in prayer, hiding her face behind her hands. "I-I didn't mean to—"_

 _Sandor grabbed her under one of her arms and quickly pulled her into his room when he heard the sound of another door opening. He wouldn't let her be caught on her knees outside of his room in the middle of the night._

 _"Yeh never told me what the fuck you were doing," he said, closing the door behind him, decidedly less angry than before._

 _Fallon shook her head from where she sat on his floor. Sandor hadn't meant to throw her in the way he did, but he had tried to act quickly. Her hands were on the ground and her body weight was resting on the side of her thigh, her legs bent beside her. She reminded him of a drawing of a mermaid he had seen in a book he read as a child._

 _"Thoros," she said in a dazed voice._

 _"_ Thoros _? Yeh know that bald cocksucker?" Sandor furrowed his brow._

 _"The candle," Fallon continued. "It led me…"_

 _Sandor stepped over to her and held out a hand to her. She locked eyes on him and stared up at him as if she had never seen him before. Then she took his hand and let him lift her to her feet. Gods, she was light. And she smelled of rum. Sandor hated that particular drink—too sweet for him—but he couldn't help thinking that it didn't smell nearly as bad to him in that moment._

 _Fallon shook her head out like a wet dog and looked at him again. She glimpsed down at their joined hands, then at his face, then at his broad, shirtless chest, then back into his eyes. Her hand started trembling in his grip and he realized that he was still holding onto her. Sandor let go and scrutinized her face._

 _"I'm so terribly sorry for disturbing you tonight," she said, glancing back down to his chest yet again._

 _"What in seven hells did that fire worshipper do to yeh?" he asked. "Don't tell me yeh're one of those Red cunts now."_

 _Fallon shook her head again, slowly this time. A wistful smile appeared on her face, but she refused to look into his eyes for a rare moment._

 _"Not a Red cunt," she said, her eyes back on his. "Just a drunk one."_

 _Sandor nodded and stepped past her, finding his despised canteen of water. He often lamented how it was full, while his wine was gone. But he was relieved at this moment that he had plenty of water._

 _"Drink this," he said, thrusting the water into Fallon's hands._

 _"I don't think I should drink anything more," she grinned in spite of herself._

 _"Yeh'll thank me in the morn."_

 _Fallon eyed the canteen and took a sip. When she realized what it was, she took a bigger gulp and nodded her thanks slowly. She stared at Sandor and handed him back the canteen. He didn't move after he took it though, as if hypnotized by her bloodshot gaze._

 _He didn't even move when her hand started raising itself up to his face. It wasn't until her fingers got dangerously close to the scars on his face that he moved a muscle. Sandor felt his body tense up and he quickly reached up to grab Fallon's forearm, pushing it away from him._

 _"Don't," he said gruffly._

 _Fallon wrenched her arm out of his grip and held it to her chest, her eyes getting wide again. She gulped and looked down, as if just realizing what she had tried to do._

 _"I-I'm sorry," she muttered._

 _Sandor walked away, towards one of the candles he was going to blow out before the interruption. Gods, he hated fire, but he knew what he had to do. Grabbing the candle, he went back to Fallon and held it in front of her._

 _"Go back to yer room, girl," he said. "And next time, don't let bald cunts like Thoros of Myr talk yeh into bloody shite like this."_

 _Fallon nodded, taking the candle from him. She stepped around him, going to the door, and then turned over her shoulder._

 _"Seven save you, Sandor Clegane," she said quietly before she opened the door and slipped out into the darkness._

* * *

 **This one came out much longer than I had intended, but I was just on a roll, I guess, haha. I hope you like it. I love the character of Thoros so much that I just had to involve him.**

 **And, as always, thank you SO MUCH for the reviews. They really put a smile on my face. I wasn't entirely sure how I felt abut last chapter, but after reading all of the reviews I felt a lot better about it, so thank you guys so much!**


	16. Prospects

**I woke up** the next morning with a pounding headache and an unlit candle in my hand. I groaned, trying to release my stiff fingers from the wax cylinder. I saw that the candle now had thick ridges from my grip and wondered if Sandor would even want it back.

My eyes widened as my memories of the night previous inundated my mind. Thoros of Myr getting me drunk, walking through the castle in the middle of the night, stumbling into Sandor…

When he threw me into his chamber I couldn't help but notice his state of undress. He only had a pair of dark brown trousers on, as I assumed he was on his way to bed when I came along. And in my drunken mindset, my eyes couldn't help but wander. My eyes kept darting to his muscular chest, bare save for the layer of hair and a few battle scars. Gods, it had been distracting to me.

I recalled the skin of water he had offered me and wished that I had drank more from it. But I didn't want to be greedy. I couldn't imagine that he was the most giving person around. I appreciated the gesture on many levels.

Rolling onto my stomach, I massaged my temples, hoping to relieve my headache as best I could. I eventually sat up and came to the realization that I hadn't even undressed before I fell asleep, apparently only having the cognizance to blow the candle out before climbing into bed.

I ran my fingers through my messy hair, or at least tried to. With a labored groan, I reached over to my bedside table and grabbed my comb. After several painstaking minutes, my hair was a little more cooperative and I managed to tie half of it into a bun at the back of my head, leaving the rest to hang past my shoulders.

 _Knock-knock!_

Another groan escaped my lips and I pushed myself off of my bed. I tried to smooth out my wrinkled dress as best I could as I trudged over to the door. I took a deep breath and opened the door a crack.

"Ah, so you survived the night."

"Just barely," I admitted with a sheepish grin, opening the door wider to fully reveal Thoros standing before me. I eyed the skin in his grasp. "Don't even think about it."

"Oh, this? Left outside your door. I do wonder who would be so kind to extend you such a courtesy, though," he said, thrusting it into my hands with a knowing look. "Does it look familiar to you at all?"

I shrugged. "It looks just like every other skin I've come into contact with."

"Look closer, my sweet."

Heaving a sigh, I turned the skin over in my hands, examining its every surface. "Oh," I murmured, looking at the letters scratched into the leather material just under the neck.

 ** _SC_**

"Why would he…?" I furrowed my brow. I pulled off the cap to check if it was indeed the same canteen of water that had been offered to me the night before. With a brave sniff, I was relieved that the contents were still water, but I was also surprised that he had been that thoughtful.

"Perhaps that grouchy old bear has a soft spot for you," Thoros smirked at me.

"Don't know as I'd use the word _soft_ to describe anything about Sandor Clegane," I bounced my eyebrows. I tried to fight the smile curling at my lips, but there was nothing I could do to quell the fuzzy feeling inside of my stomach.

Thoros gave me another knowing look as I took a swig of the water, but I wouldn't let him say another word until I changed the subject.

"Is there something you need, Thoros of Myr?" I asked. "As much as I would appreciate a purely social visit, I do have other duties to attend to."

"Of course you do, sweet Fallon. As do I," he bowed his head. "I was merely wondering where exactly the candle led you after we parted ways last night."

I felt my face warm up as the image of Sandor's bare chest flooded back to mind. I pressed the skin to my lips again and drank from it long enough to decide how I would respond. Oh, how I wanted to lie and say that it led me any other place than where I ended up, but there was something in Thoros' eyes that wouldn't let me.

"The, erm, candle burned out at…Sandor's door," I admitted.

His lips slowly formed another smirk. "I _knew_ you were fond of him. How much, I had no idea…"

"What do you mean?"

"I told you— the candle will lead you to where you truly want to go."

"I never said I _wanted_ to go there."

"You didn't have to," Thoros' smirk deepened.

"It was a coincidence," I stated. "I-I dropped the candle. Of course it was going to burn out. It just so happened to be outside of his chamber."

"And may I ask why you _just so happened_ to drop the candle?" Thoros bounced one of his eyebrows at me. "Was the candle glowing progressively brighter?"

"Perhaps it was," I shrugged. "My memories of last night are a bit foggy. I was a tad inebriated, thanks to you."

"And right before you dropped said brightly glowing candle, did the wax heat up?"

"…Perhaps it did."

"And did it burn your hand?"

I gulped, remembering how hot the candle was.

Thoros suddenly reached out for my right hand, examining my palm.

"Perhaps it did," he tutted, circling the outside of the red patch of skin in the middle of it with his gloved finger. Then he gave me another knowing look before leaning into my ear.

"Your secret is safe with me," he muttered.

Thoros turned my hand over and kissed my knuckles before letting me go. He winked an eye at me and bowed his head yet again. Then he whirled around and walked out of sight.

I closed my door after him and leaned my back against it. I looked at the red spot on the palm of my hand and started to feel a dull burning pain. Funny how certain wounds never start hurting until you notice them.

 _"I_ knew _you were fond of him. How much, I had no idea…"_

Thoros' words were resounding in my brain. Had he really been implying that I had romantic feelings for Sandor? No, there was no way that I—

Suddenly the image of Sandor's bare chest flashed in my mind again. The muscles bulging under the blanket of dark hair, the scars telling of his prowess on the battlefield… Gods, he was the essence of everything I believed masculinity to be.

 _"I see you're still looking at the Hound. That ugly fucker guards over Prince Joffrey."_

And then there was that face. Yes, the marred side of it was…jarring, to say the least. But I wouldn't go so far as to call him ugly, as Theon Greyjoy had the night of the feast. The unburnt side of Sandor's face showed the promise of dark, brooding features. Features that surely would have made fair maidens swoon had half of them not been burned away when he was a child.

 _"While you're at it, try and avoid his_ little _brother. As fearsome and vicious as they are massive, those Cleganes."_

Fearsome, vicious, massive. Ruban hadn't entirely been wrong in his description of Clegane brothers. Surely the two of them had shed their fair amount of blood in Westeros. And their duel at the Tourney of the Hand had certainly proved that they weren't afraid to shed each other's.

But there was kindness deep inside of Sandor. He had proved it time and time again with his actions. He had taken it upon himself to help me in my times of need, whether it be as minor as returning my lute to me or as monumental as helping me kill my father.

 _"You're fond of him."_

Aye, Thoros had been right when he spouted that out the night before. The fuzzy feelings inside my body that seemed to appear when he was around, the blood rushing to my face, they were both indicators of just how _fond_ I was of Sandor Clegane. And I had been too blind to see it until now.

Whether I believed in his Red magic or not, Thoros' candle had led me to what I truly wanted.

I tried to swallow the lump in my throat and looked down at the canteen clenched in my hands— _his_ canteen. Then I raised it to my trembling lips and drank more of the water, wishing that it was something a bit stronger.

* * *

"I heard your father has recovered enough to get out of bed," I said as I filled the cup sitting before Arya on the table she was eating lunch at.

"He has a cane," she nodded, picking at the pork laid out before her.

"Indeed, he does," I murmured, sitting across from her.

A thick silence fell over us and I heaved a great sigh before grabbing a roll and tearing a piece off of it, placing it in my mouth. My stomach felt heavy, even though I hadn't ingested anything since I emptied out the skin of water this morning. I chewed slowly, looking down at my lap.

"I don't hate you."

My eyes snapped up to see Arya glancing at me from under her eyebrows. Her shoulders were slumping and her mouth was contorted into a frown.

"I hate _him_ ," she finished.

"I know you do, sweet child," I said in a quiet voice, knowing exactly who she was speaking of. "And you have every right to."

"Then why is he your friend?" she furrowed her brow.

"He's not my—" I cut myself off and heaved another sigh. "Because I understand the way things are, little lady."

"I _understand_ perfectly fine," Arya gripped her fork tightly. "He kills innocent boys."

"Sandor's a hired sword for the Lannisters. He does as he's told," I said. "And some of the things he's told to do are not…honorable. But he has to do them."

"He doesn't _have_ to do anything."

"He does if he wants to survive," I told her. "Life isn't a song. It's full of hard choices. You'll understand when you're older."

"I'm not Sansa—I _know_ life isn't a song," she scowled. "Little boys aren't murdered in songs."

It was becoming tiresome to explain things to Arya. Tiresome and frustrating. I had tried so many times, but it only fell on deaf ears, so I decided to lean back against my seat and nod in response. Surely she would look back on this in the years to come and realize exactly what I was trying to say. Surely she would understand.

"I don't hate you, Fallon," Arya whispered, looking back at the plate in front of her. "I never could."

I nodded again, feeling tears prick at my eyes. "I know, sweet child."

* * *

"A word?"

I turned my head over my shoulder and stared at the man standing halfway outside of his door, watching me as I tried to open my own.

"Please, Fallon," Sterlan implored.

"I suppose," I shrugged. I cocked my head towards my door and opened it, gesturing for him to follow me in.

I went to sit on my mattress and slung one of my knees over the other as Sterlan entered my room and shut the door behind him. He gazed down at me with mournful eyes and stood before me, playing with his fingers.

"I wanted to formally apologize to you," he finally said.

Sterlan watched for me to react, but I didn't say anything. Not yet.

"Erm, Ruban and I care for you a lot. As does Elras, as does Vernyn," he continued. "And when you, er, ran off with the Hound—"

"His name is Sandor," I interrupted coldly. "He's a human being, not a dog."

Sterlan scrutinized me, then took a deep breath. "When you ran off with him, it raised a lot of questions. When you didn't arrive at our luncheon, it worried us. Was it right for us to assume you were…?"

" _Fucking him_ , I believe was the implication made," I filled in where his voice trailed off.

Sterlan gritted his teeth and closed his eyes for a few seconds. "What I'm trying to say is, I apologize for, erm, staining your reputation with somewhat unfounded gossip."

I cocked an eyebrow. "What do you mean, 'somewhat unfounded'?"

"Ruban said he's seen the Hou— _Sandor_ —coming to your room at night more than once. Seven hells, I saw him this morning dropping something off at your door," Sterlan pointed out. "You can't blame us for wondering."

"No, I can't blame you," I shook my head. "Not for that. But what I can blame you for is not minding your own business and spreading lies."

"Of course you can," Sterlan bowed his head. "I could never hold that against you. And I apologize for the role I played. I was upset and acted irrationally. As did Ruban."

"It was a _lunch_. And you all acted as if I had missed a wedding," I said.

"Ruban is big on camaraderie," he told me.

"I understand," I nodded. "And I apologize for disappearing on all of you, but I had to—"

Sterlan stared at me intently, but I wasn't about to explain everything. I didn't want to dredge up the past yet again. And he also didn't deserve to hear my story. He ruined any chance of becoming close to me the moment he and Ruban deemed me a whore.

"Sandor is my…my _friend_ ," I finally admitted, making Sterlan's eyebrows twitch. "And what he pulled me away for was vastly more important than breaking bread in Ruban's chambers and poking fun at poor Elras."

"Of course it was," Sterlan nodded. "I can't take back what happened. I can only ask that you forgive me and that one day you will consider me a friend again."

I nodded again, silently.

"Thank you for hearing me out," Sterlan swallowed hard and looked at the ground for a moment. He took a deep breath and then looked back up at me. "I really do care for you, Fallon. More than you seem to know."

"I appreciate you telling me that," I replied.

"You have a beautiful soul," he continued, an intensity in his eyes like I had never seen before. "And an even more beautiful face. Everything I've wanted in a future wife."

My eyebrows shot up and my lips parted, but I could find no words to say. Fortunately, Sterlan wasn't finished.

"As, er, Elras once said, pretty girl like you, pretty boy like me, it makes sense," Sterlan added clumsily. "I know this is coming out of nowhere, and I know this isn't the ideal time to bring it up, but I cannot keep it inside a moment longer, Fallon. I…I have feelings for you. And some day I hope to stand before a septon and exchange vows with you."

"Sterlan," I choked out, my eyes widening.

"You need not say a thing," he shook his head. "Not now, anyway. I shall bide my time, let you regain your trust in me. Take as long as you need. But heed my words, you will never find a man who is more capable of loving you than me."

He bowed his head once more and slipped out of my chamber. I felt a lump form in my throat and hugged my knees to my chest, trying to process what in the seven hells had just happened. Had Sterlan really come to apologize and then all but proposed to me? Or was I about to wake up in a pool of my own sweat, riddled with fever?

Gods, I hoped it was the second choice.

* * *

 _Sandor sat at the edge of his mattress, sharpening one of his swords with a whetstone. He could have had his squire do it, but he didn't trust the unlucky cunt assigned to him enough yet. Sandor was protective over his weapons; they were as important to him as his hands were. He wouldn't_ name _them, as he didn't subscribe to that cunt-like behavior. But he felt a lot safer if he left the sharpening to himself for now._

 _He took a break and rolled his sore shoulders back. He had taken his armor off for the night, but he could still feel the weight of it over his green tunic. He loosened the strings, expanding the neckline a bit, and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows to fight the heat of the summer night._

 _Just as he went to reach for the stone and the sword, he heard a gentle knock at the door. He ventured a glance to his window, seeing the dark sky outside. Who the fuck was coming to visit him this late? Or at all?_

 _Sandor's mind jumped to one conclusion and he felt a spot of pressure on his chest._ No _, he thought to himself,_ she wouldn't come here sober _. And he grabbed the sword and whetstone once more, continuing the sharpening._

 _Though still gentle, the knock was a bit louder the second time. With a sigh, Sandor got to his feet and reconsidered his logic in anticipating who the persistent visitor outside of his door was. He dropped the stone on his bed, but kept the sword in his hand, and crossed the floor._

 _"In," he said immediately after pulling the door open to reveal Fallon standing there._

 _"What?" she blurted, glancing down at his sword._

 _"_ In _," Sandor repeated through gritted teeth, seizing her arm and pulling her inside, much like he had done the night before. He glanced out into the dimly-lit corridor, making sure no one was around to see, and then shut the door behind him. "Yeh can't keep coming here."_

 _"I just wanted to…" Fallon nervously held up the canteen to him._

 _"I never picked you to be this thick in the head, girl," Sandor barked, taking it from her and tossing it on his bed, next to the whetstone. "The wrong fucking person sees yeh outside my room in the middle of the night, yeh'll be branded a fucking whore. And any fucking chance of a decent marriage for yeh is ripped to pieces."_

 _Fallon winced and looked away from him. Sandor narrowed his eyes at her. She seemed uncomfortable at his words._

 _"Can we please not discuss marriage at the moment?" she asked._

 _Suddenly amused, Sandor raised his good eyebrow. "Thought that was all you bloody girls wanted to talk about."_

 _"Not me," she shook her head. "Not now, at least."_

 _"And why is that?" Sandor asked, putting his sword away and sitting on his mattress in front of her._

 _Fallon gave him an annoyed look, amusing him even more._

 _"Since when have you been concerned about my marriage prospects?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest._

 _Sandor was silent for a moment, wondering how he should answer. "Since yeh've decided to make a habit out of dropping in on me at night."_

 _"_ Oh _, so midnight visits are_ bad _?" she asked facetiously. "And what of you breaking into my room the other night? Or the night after when you nearly ran me over to get in?"_

 _"Yeh stole my wineskin," Sandor responded with a playful air. Gods, did he enjoy getting under her skin. He hadn't fucked with her like this since the Kingsroad._

 _"_ You _left it in my room!" Fallon responded exasperatedly. There was a ghost of a smile on her face, indicating that she had caught on and was playing along._

 _Sandor felt the corner of his lips tugging up on one side. It was rare that someone could elicit even the slightest smirk out of him, for he had run out of reasons to smile a long time ago._

 _"So," Fallon shook her long hair out of her face, "you're really worried about my_ perceived virtue _?"_

 _He stared at the smug look on her face. "Worried? Not a fucking chance."_

 _"Aye?"_

 _"Can't see yeh spinning wool, is all."_

 _"You think I'll be doomed to be a spinster if someone sees me knocking on your door?"_

 _"'Haps," Sandor cocked his head to the side. "That or the only man to ask for yer hand will be desperate and ugly."_

 _Fallon bounced her eyebrows and hugged herself tightly. "I don't much care for looks," she murmured, looking away. "They certainly_ help _, but they're not all that matters to me."_

 _Sandor's good eyebrow twitched._

 _"If I ever marry, I'll marry for love. Not for convenience. And certainly not because people will think we look_ pretty _together."_

 _He scrutinized her as she looked at the floor, her face crumpling. Sandor shifted in his seat, not liking seeing her this way._

 _"Thought yeh didn't want to discuss marriage," he muttered._

 _"I didn't," Fallon shook her head and looked back at him._

 _Her eyes were tired and sad. It looked…wrong on her. She was normally vibrant, happy, full of life. Something really must have been upsetting her._

 _There weren't many in this shit world that he cared about, but the little songbird was certainly one of them. She was kind. She was good. And she treated him with more respect than he had ever gotten in his life._

 _"Well, er, anyway, I wanted to thank you," Fallon interrupted his reverie, her face getting pinker by the second. "For the skin of water you left at my door this morning. I needed it. More than I'd like to admit."_

 _Sandor nodded again. And silence fell over the two of them. Fallon kept staring, as if there was something more that she wanted to say, but for what seemed like the first time since he had met her, the cat had her tongue._

 _"Do I need to track someone down for yeh again?" Sandor asked._

 _Fallon snorted, shaking her head with a beaming smile. She clearly thought his words were in jest. She had no idea that he would cut down a hundred men if she'd asked him to._

 _"No, no. Thank you for the offer, though," she said, dipping into a playful curtsy._

 _Sandor stood up from his mattress and stepped over to her, his eyes never leaving hers. Not even when she glanced down below his neck, swallowing hard before returning his gaze. Her cheeks darkened and her lips parted._

 _"Erm, I sh-should leave," Fallon stammered, shaking her head out like one of the dogs in his grandfather's old kennel._

 _"Yeh should," he bobbed his head._

 _"I-I'm sorry for bothering you yet again," she muttered, turning around and walking towards the door._

 _Fallon reached her hand for the doorknob, but hesitated before twisting it. She turned over her shoulder and gave him that look again—like there was something else she wished to say. Sandor wished she would spit it out and be done with it. Perhaps then her eyes would be a little less sad._

 _She ultimately turned back to the door and opened it gingerly, peering into the corridor before slipping out. Sandor watched as the door slowly closed behind her. He swallowed hard, knowing he was a bloody idiot for caring about her as much as he did, let alone at all. He'd gotten along this far on his own, acting only in his own interest and in the interests of those who paid him. Fallon hadn't given him single copper. In fact, she had_ taken _money from him—albeit after had offered it to her. She had pestered him. She had claimed him the worst shit in the Seven Kingdoms._

 _So why, he wondered as he sat back on his bed and picked up the sword and whetstone. Why was he willing to die for the songbird?_

* * *

 **Aww, Sandor really cares for Fallon :')**

 **P.S. THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR PATIENCE, I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. I was** ** _really_** **trying to power through my writers' block this week...**


	17. Soap from Highgarden

**"They burned most** everything in the Riverlands," the grimy man said, nervously clutching the dark brown hat in his hands. "Our fields, our granaries, our _homes_. They took our women…then they _took 'em again_. When they was done, they _butchered_ them as if they was animals. They covered our children in _pitch_ …and lit them on fire."

I grimaced, imagining how terrifying that must have been to see. Standing beside me, behind the pillar in the open space on the outskirts of the court, Sterlan glanced at my face and reached out to squeeze my shoulder. I gulped and tried to ignore the gesture, keeping my sights on the familiar man on the dais.

Ned Stark closed his eyes and lowered his head. He was sitting on the Iron Throne—a chair made of a thousand swords, or so I was led to believe, forged by the fiery breath of Aegon the Conqueror's greatest dragon, Balerion the Black Dread. As Hand of the King, Ned was holding court in Robert's stead, as the latter had gone for a hunt.

"Brigands, most likely," said Grand Maester Pycelle from his seat beside Ned. The ancient old man could not seem less bothered by this shaken man from the Riverlands.

"They weren't thieves," the man shook his head. "They didn't _steal_ nothing. They even left something behind, Your Grace."

"It's the King's _Hand_ you're addressing, not the _king_. The king is hunting," Pycelle corrected insensitively.

One of the grimy man's compatriots from the Riverlands who had been standing behind him as he spoke came forward and overturned a large sack. With but a few disgusting _squish_ es, the man emptied out the sack, leaving a pile of dead fish on the marble floor.

The court, which had remained mostly silent, save for a few whispers here and there, erupted in groans at the sight, sound, and smell of the fish. I wrinkled my nose and shook my head slightly.

"Fish. The sigil of House Tully," said Littlefinger. He was sitting on the other side of Ned, keeping notes in a large book with a feather quill in his hand. He leaned over towards the Stark on the throne and whispered something to him. Ned didn't look amused.

"These men," he turned his head back to the man from the Riverlands, tapping his fingers on the arm of the throne, "were they flying a sigil?"

The man looked confused, as if he had never heard the word 'sigil' before in his life.

"A banner?" Ned offered.

"None, Your— _Hand_ ," the man replied. "The one who was leading them—taller by a foot than any man I've ever met. Saw him cut the blacksmith in two, saw him take the head off a horse with a single swing of his sword."

"The Mountain," I murmured, feeling a heavy weight on my chest.

"Hmm?" Sterlan leaned his head closer to mine, but I just shook my head, watching Littlefinger whisper something else to Ned.

"You're describing Ser Gregor Clegane," my lord said to the man.

"Why should Ser Gregor turn brigand?" Pycelle asked defensively. "The man is an anointed _knight_."

A chill ran down my spine and I shook my head, remembering the story Littlefinger had told Sansa and Arya at the tourney. Perhaps this was why Sandor refused to take his vows. Perhaps this was why he spit on the ground and said, "fuck the knighthood," back when we spoke in Winterfell.  
"I've heard him called Twyin Lannister's mad dog," Littlefinger said, referring to the queen's father. "I'm sure you have as well."

Littlefinger loudly whispered something to Ned yet again. This time, I could have sworn I heard something about the Lannisters being angry with Ned's wife.

"Er, if the Lannisters were to order attacks on villages under the king's protection, i-it would be—"

"That would be almost as brazen as attacking the Hand of the King in the streets of the capital," Littlefinger interjected the maester, glancing knowingly at Ned.

"Well…" Pycelle trailed off.

Ned was silent for a moment, clearly collecting his thoughts. Then he finally spoke, addressing the man from the Riverlands.

"I cannot give you back your homes or restore your dead to life, but perhaps I can give you justice in the name of our king, Robert. Lord Beric Dondarrion," Ned said.

Beric, the man who had been with King Robert the night Thoros had gotten me drunk, stepped forward from the crowd. He came to the side of the man from the Riverlands and stared at Ned.

"You shall have the command," said my lord. "Assemble one hundred men and ride to Ser Gregor's keep."

"As you command," Beric replied.

Ned struggled to stand up, his cane making a sharp sound on the dais. "In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I charge you to bring the king's justice to the false knight, Gregor Clegane, and all those who shared in his crimes. I denounce him and attaint him. I strip him of all ranks and titles, of all lands and holdings, and sentence him to death."

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of my lips. If only Sandor had been there to hear it.

"My lord, this-this is a drastic action," Pycelle rose to his doddering feet. "It would be better to wait for King Robert's return."

"Grand Maester Pycelle."

"My lord."

"Send a raven to Casterly Rock. Inform Tywin Lannister that he has been summoned to court to answer for the crimes of his bannermen. He will arrive within the fortnight or be branded an enemy of the Crown and a traitor to the realm."

The court was flush with murmurs. "Wolf's got stones, hasn't he?" someone near me said to his neighbor, making me grin. I could feel Sterlan's eyes on me yet again and I wished he would stop looking at me.

Lord Stark nodded to Beric and the man from the Riverlands, who both nodded back. Then Ned hobbled off the dais, Littlefinger at his elbow.

"Come, Fallon," Ruban said from where he stood on the other side of Sterlan. "It's time to go."

* * *

" _And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that Lord of Castamere_ ," I sang. " _But now the rains weep o'er his hall with no one there to hear. Yes, now the rains weep o'er his hall, and not a soul to hear_."

Curtsying, I could feel Cersei's eyes on me. She was sitting in an ornate chair, staring at me as I straightened back up.

"You're quite talented," she said evenly.

"Many thanks, Your Grace," I bowed my head.

"I now see why Tyrion was lauding you so. At first, I had assumed my brother's interest in you was solely based on the way you look. And when my husband hired you to be a musician, I could only assume the same," Cersei got to her feet and ambled over to me. "You're quite beautiful, in a simple sort of way. Your hair—such a lovely shade of brown. So long. So… _Northern_."

I gulped. I wondered where she was going with this.

"Only you're not from the North, are you?" she asked, a smirk on her pink lips.

"I'm not, Your Grace," I admitted. "I was born in Flea Bottom."

"Yes, you were," Cersei whispered, a knowing look in her eyes. "And you are loyal to the Starks?"

"I am loyal to the Crown," I responded carefully.

Of course I was loyal to the Starks. They were always so good to me. But this was Queen Cersei I was speaking to; she was as dangerous as she was beautiful. One could never be too cautious around her.

Her smirk grew wider. "You're much smarter than you look."

"Thank you, Your Grace," I replied, not appreciating her backhanded compliments.

"Tell me, Fallon of Flea Bottom," Cersei reached up and grabbed a strand of my hair. "Have you seen much of your Lord Stark in your days here?"

"I have not," I shook my head. "I barely see Arya, as it is."

"Ah, yes, the one you _requested_ to be with. Tell me, is that wild little girl worth the trouble?" she asked, twirling my hair in her fingers.

I bit back my resentment of her statement. "Arya is like a sister to me."

"Of course she is," Cersei murmured. "Though it seems to me that she is more focused on her _dancing_ lessons than anything else. Does she _really_ need a handmaiden?"

I gulped again. "The little lady is very independent, yes. But—"

"When you made that request of yours so long ago, luck was _very_ much on your side," Cersei interrupted, letting go of my hair. "I would have cut your tongue out. But my _husband_ was far more lenient."

"I am very lucky, Your Grace," I said. "Very lucky, but sometimes foolish. I never should have questioned the king's offer."

Cersei looked at me as if she could tell that I was overdoing it, but she didn't say anything about it. Instead, she changed the subject.

"When you see Lord Stark, what do the two of you speak of?" she asked. There was an intensity behind her gaze that made me wonder if Ned had unearthed a secret about her.

"Like I said, Your Grace, I have not seen much of him since we arrived at the Red Keep. He only ever asks about Arya on the rare chance we cross paths," I told her honestly.

"I see," Cersei nodded. "You are dismissed, then."

"Your Grace," I curtsied one more time, turning for the door.

"Oh, one more thing," the queen called out to me. "The next time you see that wild little girl, tell her that you no longer serve her. You only serve the Crown."

The bottom of my stomach fell out at her words. I wanted to ask why, I wanted to beg her to change her mind, but I knew neither of these would be taken well. I would be flogged or beaten. Or perhaps she would make good on her threat to have my tongue cut out.

"In fact, you will go to her now and you will tell her. And since you're as smart as you are, and you've learned your lesson, I shan't have to tell you what the punishment will be if you defy my orders," the Queen added.

I could feel my eyes widening involuntarily. My mouth went dry as I nodded.

"Go. Now."

"I will, Your Grace," I bowed my head.

I quickened my pace to the door and stepped outside, feeling my eyes well up with tears. I tried to bite them back as I headed down the corridor. Everything seemed to be falling to shit around me and it was becoming harder and harder to keep myself together. Gods, I nearly cried before Sandor the night I returned his skin to him.

For a moment that night I was compelled to throw my arms around him and bury my face into his neck, but I was able to restrain myself. I couldn't imagine how he would have reacted.

But I remembered the day he took me to my childhood home and watched me finish off my father. He had let me weep against his armor and held the back of my head in his giant hand—a small gesture that had meant everything to me.

So badly I wanted to feel his hand on the back of my head again. So badly I wanted to go to his chamber. So badly I wanted to disappear from everyone in the world, except for him.

* * *

I slipped out of my sandals and felt the warmth of the stones on the soles of my feet. I dipped my toe into the tub and tested how hot the water was. With another look around the empty room, I tugged at the belt around my waist and let the knot untie, the robe around my body falling to the floor by the sack I had brought with me.

I took a step down into the in-ground bath and stood on the bench, watching the ripples skitter away from my knees. With a sigh, I lowered myself into the water and sat down on the bench, stretching my legs out along it, resting my back against the corner of the tub. I closed my eyes and let myself relax in the warm water. I could almost feel my sorrows washing away, if only for a moment.

 _"Fallon, thank the Gods you're here," Arya said when I entered her chamber._

 _"Are you packing?" I asked, furrowing my brow at the bag on her bed._

 _"I have to. Father's sending Sansa and me back to Winterfell," she explained, haphazardly throwing a dress into her bag._

 _"And why is that?" I wondered._

 _"He said it's for our safety."_

 _A chill ran down my spine. What had Ned gotten himself into?_

 _"You have to come with us," Arya turned to me and grabbed both of my hands. "The king has enough musicians. They don't need you."_

 _I gulped. "I can't, sweet child."_

 _"You can! You have to! You're still my handmaiden!"_

 _"I-I only serve the Crown now, little lady," I choked out. "The queen's words."_

 _"I don't understand," Arya stared at me with watery eyes. "Were you threatened? Father will tell King Robert. He'll set the queen strai—"_

 _"Arya, please. Don't make this any more difficult than it already is," I gave her a bitter smile, feeling my own tears coming._

 _"But I need you," she squeezed my hands._

 _"I've always told myself you've needed me, but the truth is, you never have. You've always been fiercely independent. A lone wolf," I said._

 _Arya shook her head. "You can't stay here."_

 _"I must," I said with a trembling lip. "I belong to the Baratheons now."_

 _"Please, Fallon," she let go of my hands and threw her arms around my waist. I could feel her sniffling against me and I held her close._

 _"You'll be safe at home, sweet child. And I'll be safe here," I said, unsure if I was trying to convince her more than myself. "Say hello to your brothers for me, eh?"_

A single tear rolled down my cheek and dropped down into the water. It was followed by another, and then another. I reached my hands up and covered my face. My knees curled up out of the water and my chest heaved uncontrollably. I could hear my own sobs as they echoed across the room, bouncing off the tubs and stone walls.

I wept until I could weep no longer. And then I untied the ribbon holding my hair in a bun at the back of my head, placing it on the edge of the tub and sliding forward so I could submerge my head under the water.

My long, brown tresses flowed over my face and up to the surface. I smoothed the roots of my hair back atop my scalp and came up for breath. I reached over to the sack half-covered by my robe and pulled it closer so that I could take out a bar of soap and a rag and wash myself with them. It had been far too long since I had last bathed properly.

I found myself harshly scrubbing at my skin, not realizing how raw my body had become until I had stopped. I winced, the bathwater that had once comforted me burning me now. I felt new tears brimming and I tried to bite them back as I washed my hair. I dug my fingers into my scalp and lathered up the soap atop my head. The foam slid down my forehead and I tried to wipe it away before it got in my eyes, to no avail. The new tears bubbled down my face and I stopped for a moment, trying to catch my breath as my body quaked.

I sank down beneath the water once more and prayed I would have the wherewithal to rise again.

* * *

 _Sandor Clegane nodded to Ser Mandon Moore, who had come to relieve him from where he stood outside of Joffrey's bedchamber. Sandor stalked away from the knight and went down a staircase that led down to his own room._

 _He half expected to find the songbird knocking at his door, but ultimately discovered an empty corridor and an empty room. She hadn't come by the night before either, he had noticed._ She's learning _, he thought to himself as he started to remove his armor. When he was down to his trousers, shirt, and boots, he placed his armor outside his door for his squire to collect and polish._

 _Sandor straightened up and felt his shirt sticking to the sweat on his back as he re-entered his chamber. It had been another hot summer day in King's Landing and his armor had done nothing but keep the sweat contained. He would have skinned Joffrey alive to go north, where cooler winds blew._

Bad example, _he thought, smirking to himself._ I'd skin Joffrey alive for less _._

 _Lifting his arms over his head to stretch out his sore muscles, Sandor became increasingly aware of his personal stench. He normally didn't care what he smelled like, as he knew that was the least of anyone's problems with him. But when he was so pungent that even_ he _could smell himself, that was when he strongly considered going down to the bathhouse._

 _And so Sandor descended into the bowels of the Red Keep. He had taken note of how dark the sky was outside and deemed it the perfect time to go—not many bathed this late at night, after all. But he knew the handmaidens still stopped by to keep the water warm, just in case._

 _The fewer people around, the better, he had always thought. To bathe was to be naked and to be naked was to be vulnerable. And Sandor never wanted to be caught in a vulnerable state._

 _As Sandor approached the bathhouse, he noticed one of said handmaidens closing the door. She glanced up at him nervously, looking at her feet and moving as close to the wall as she could. She was afraid of him, but that wasn't going to stop him from asking his question._

 _"Girl," he grumbled, stepping out in front of her so she would stop in her tracks._

 _"Yes, ser," she bowed her head._

 _"I'm no ser," he spat._

 _"Please, I beg your forgiveness," she squeaked. Her body was shaking._

For fuck's sake, tell her yeh're not going to hurt her _, a voice in his head said, but Sandor knew that it wouldn't help. Once people got it in their heads that he was scary, it was difficult to convince them otherwise. Not that he cared much anymore about other's opinions of him anyway._

 _"Are there people in there?" Sandor asked._

 _"J-Just one," the girl hugged herself. "A-A woman. One of th-the musicians, if I'm correct."_

 _Sandor's eyebrow twitched. Perhaps he'd see the songbird this night after all._

 _With a small nod to the handmaiden, Sandor stepped to the side and kept walking, not turning around to see her all but run away from him. He pulled the door open and entered the steamy bathhouse. He heard a splash and his eyes snapped over to one of the tubs against the wall of the room._

 _There she was, up to her nose in water. Her red eyes were open as wide as they could be, glistening up at him. He could see the pale color of her skin under the water, but couldn't make anything out of it. Her hair was wet, clinging to the top of her head, the rest of it splaying out in the water._

 _When she realized it was just him, he could see the panic in her face lessen, but he could tell something was wrong. Her face was blotchy and there were bags under her shiny eyes. And when she rose from the water, just up to her shoulders, he could see her lips were pressed together in a thin line._

 _"The fuck you doing here?" Sandor asked. If it were anyone else, he would have barked at them to get out and leave him be, but he couldn't do that to the songbird._

 _"Taking a bath," Fallon responded in a small voice. She covered her chest with one arm and then used the other to hoist herself onto the bench, leaning her head back on the stone floor._

 _It wasn't the clever response he was expecting from her. Sandor examined her face as he went to the tub next to hers. She stared back at him, as always, but said nothing; the only thing about her that moved was her knees as they popped out of the surface before her. Her eyes were still tired and sad, more so than the last time she had come to his chamber. Sandor felt pressure in the middle of his chest and shook his head subtly._

I shifted my eyes away from him when he pulled at the strings of his shirt, but I could feel him watching me still. Both of my arms were now wrapped around myself, even though I felt like I could trust him not to gawk at my bosom. Sure, he was a man, and I a very naked woman, but he was better than most men. At least in my opinion he was.

Out of my peripheral vision, I could see him bend over to take his boots off. And when he went to loosen the strings on his trousers, I lifted my head off the floor and looked down at the water pooling between my chest and my thighs. I didn't dare to raise my eyes until I heard the sound of him stepping into the tub.

"Yeh have any soap?" he asked quietly, as if he was embarrassed. He was sitting on the bench under the water on the far side of the tub, facing the door he had just entered, his hands on his knees. He had turned his head to me so all I could see was the unburnt side of his face.

"Aye," I nodded, releasing one of my hands to reach over and grabbed my discarded bar of soap. "I must warn you, it smells a bit flowery. The vendor I bought it from said it's from Highgarden."

Sandor heaved a great sigh and then shrugged. "Who's going to say anything to me about it?"

My lips cracked into a reluctant smirk and I laughed through my nose. "Fair enough."

I slid off the bench and walked along the floor of the tub to the edge closest to his. I outstretched my arm, pressing my chest against the tub wall. Sandor looked down at me before moving at all. I struggled to maintain his gaze, wanting to steal another glance at his muscular chest sticking high out of the water.

Sandor nodded his thanks to me and took the soap from my hand, his fingers brushing against mine. In spite of my lingering sadness, my stomach fluttered at the brief contact. I turned around and went back to my spot in the corner. I climbed up on the bench and pulled my comb out of my sack.

"Yeh're quiet," he said, breaking the silence as he rubbed the soap between his hands, working up a lather.

"Pardon?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Yeh haven't been as big a pain in my arse as usual," he elaborated, scrubbing at his arm.

I sniffed another laugh through my nose and ran my comb through my hair. "Forgive me, I haven't been quite myself lately."

Sandor eyed me, a hint of a smirk on his face. "Why's that?"

"Lots of reasons," I shrugged, surprised he had even asked. "Nothing I would want to burden you with."

He continued to stare at me. "Yeh still in a panic about marriage?"

 _"I'm not getting married," Fallon said._

 _"Yeh're not?" Sandor pressed, amused by the definitiveness of her answer. "He lose interest?"_

 _Her comb stopped mid strand of hair and her eyes narrowed on him. "If only he would," she sighed. "He's going to have to take no for an answer."_

 _Sandor's eyebrow perked up. "Who is this cunt?"_

 _Fallon could barely contain her smirk. "I don't think you know him."_

 _"Probably not," he cocked his head to the side, lathering up his hands again. "Don't know many of the cunts around here. And they don't want to know me."_

 _"Can't imagine why," she murmured. "So warm and inviting, you are."_

 _It was his turn to narrow his eyes at her. But Sandor wasn't even the slightest bit miffed at her sarcasm. No, he was pleased to hear her joking, if he was being truly honest with himself. There was still sadness in her eyes, but it had muted since he first saw her peeking out of the water._

 _"And how do yer wolf lords like yer cheek?" he sneered, scrubbing at his chest._

 _Sandor watched as her face fell and her eyes darted down to the water. She was silent for a moment._

 _"They're, er, not_ my _wolf lords anymore," Fallon replied._

 _"They're not?" he echoed._

The lump in my throat felt like it weighed two stone. Sandor was still watching me as I combed through the rest of my hair, but I refused to look him in the eye. I didn't want him to see me so upset. I didn't want him to think me weak.

"My tenure as Arya's handmaiden has come to an unexpected close, as per the queen's orders," I answered, putting my comb away.

I pulled my hair into a braid that hung over my shoulder and tied it off with my ribbon. Then I pulled the large, coarse towel out of my sack and carefully held it up as I got to my feet. I wrapped the towel around myself and knelt down to gather my things. I could still feel Sandor's eyes on me, but I did my best to ignore him as I strapped my sandals onto my feet and fastened my robe on over the towel.

"Keep the soap," I told him, holding the sack in my arms like it was a small child. "Or toss it, I don't really care. I've never been one for flowers, anyway."

* * *

 **Does depressed Fallon make anyone as sad as me? (Or Sandor?)**


	18. Just and Merciful

**"King Robert is** dead," Ruban said mournfully.

"Killed by a bloody pig," Elras shook his head.

"A boar," Vernyn corrected. "Let him die with at least a little dignity."

" _Dignity_? No dignity in dying," Elras scoffed. "The Father could strike yeh down 'imself and yeh'd still shit yerself same as everyone else."

"Is this the kind of talk that seduced your precious Sadie?" Vernyn retorted.

Elras cracked his neck, but didn't say anything.

The chamber we had been practicing in before we heard the news fell silent. I absentmindedly stroked the neck of my lute and stared at the floor. We had first heard that Robert had returned to the castle wounded, gored by a beast in the woods beyond the city. The hopeful part of my brain had wondered if he would pull through. As crass as he was, King Robert had been kind to me in my few interactions with him. Unfortunately, the hopeful part of my brain was usually wrong.

"I heard a nasty rumor," Ruban said in a quiet voice.

"What about?" Vernyn asked.

"The king's _rightful heir_."

"Prince Joffrey?" Sterlan piped up.

"Mm," Ruban nodded. "Perhaps he's not so rightful after all."

"What do you mean?" I furrowed my brow.

"I heard," the redhead whispered dramatically, "that Robert was not his father."

"Bollocks," Vernyn jeered. "Who told you this shite?"

"Won't reveal me sources," Ruban shook his head. "But they told me that it was none other than the queen's twin brother himself."

" _Jaime Lannister_? That pretty-haired soldier?"

"The one and the same."

I felt like someone had poured icy water down the back of my dress. I had my suspicions that Ned had unearthed something about Queen Cersei, but never had I expected it to be this foul. It must have been true if Ned said it—so noble and honorable he was. No wonder he had wanted to send Arya and Sansa back home to Winterfell.

"Tell no one we spoke of this," Ruban eyed each of us. "Surely we'd all be killed if word got out."

"I'll take it to me grave," Elras nodded.

Sterlan looked at me and caught my eye. "You look pale, Fallon," he said, reaching over to grab my hand.

"I-I'm not feeling well," I murmured, clasping both of my hands together before he could touch me.

"Perhaps you should get some rest. I'm sure we'll be asked to play at the king's funeral feast soon. Knowing Robert, it'll be the biggest the kingdom has ever seen," Ruban said. "Go. Sleep. We'll wake you if you're needed."

"I'll escort you," Sterlan offered, standing up before me.

"There's no need," I shook my head.

"For your own safety, I think it's best you take him. What if you faint?" Ruban looked down his nose at me.

Gulping defeatedly, I stood and nodded, holding my lute close to my chest. Sterlan got to his feet as well and offered me his arm. I reluctantly hooked my hand around his elbow and let him lead me to the door.

We stepped out of the room and started walking down the corridor to a set of stairs. Nearly halfway down our ears were met with the sounds of distant yelling and swords clashing. The bottom of my stomach fell out.

"The hell is going on?" Sterlan's eyebrows knitted together.

"I-I don't know," I replied shakily.

"We should go back," he suggested, turning around. "It'll be safe there."

I nodded and tried to keep up with him. My heart was pounding. And I found myself praying that the skirmish waging below wasn't what my mind immediately jumped to. I hoped the Starks and their army were safe.

Sterlan nearly dragged me up the stairs, his hand latched onto mine. I didn't dare let go, as the yelling seemed only to get louder. By the time we reached the corridor we had just left, my heart was beating so loudly I could hear it. I couldn't stop thinking about Arya. Was she hurt? Was she safe? Was she alive?

"Girl!" echoed a voice from an intersecting hallway.

My feet planted where I was, my sweaty hand sliding out of Sterlan's grasp. I stared at the man coming towards me, my body trembling.

"Fallon!" Sterlan called back to me, slowing down to look back at me.

"Go!" I shouted over my shoulder at him. "Quickly!"

 _"Listen to the songbird, boy," Sandor Clegane growled through the open jaws of his helm, coming to Fallon's side and grabbing her arm._

 _"Fallon, please, come with me!" the drumming nance begged. "It's not safe out here!"_

 _"Exactly—_ go _," Fallon implored, glancing up at Sandor. "I'll be fine."_

 _Before the drummer could say another word, Sandor tugged on the songbird's arm, pulling her into the corridor after him._

 _"The wrong soldier sees yeh, yeh're as good as dead," he muttered to her, his grip tightening on her._

 _"What's happening?" Fallon asked, practically running to stay in step with him._

 _"Yer wolf lord is a stupid fucking twat, that's what's happening," he snarled, taking her down a hidden staircase._

 _"_ What _?! Where are you taking me?"_

 _"Somewhere yeh won't get yer neck snipped."_

 _Fallon's steps started to lag behind him and Sandor turned to see her watery, fearful eyes staring up at him. Gods, he just wanted to shake her into her senses. But that would waste too much valuable time. Instead, he grabbed her behind her knees, heaved her over his shoulder, and hurried down the stairs, all but running to his quarters._

 _The purge of the Starks was still raging, Sandor could hear. He knew he was supposed to be looking for the older wolf girl, but he also knew that Fallon wasn't safe wandering through the castle. If any soldiers knew who she was, they knew her as a Stark loyalist. He wouldn't have her blood adorning the walls of the Red Keep._

 _Sandor opened the door to his chamber and set her down on the floor. He pulled his damned helm off his head and threw it onto his bed, grabbing her arms with both of his hands._

 _"Look at me. If yeh've got any sense left in yeh, yeh'll bar the door and stay here. Open the door for no one but me," he hissed._

 _"Why is this happening?" she asked, her eyes wet with tears._

 _"_ No one _," Sandor repeated, giving her the shake he had wanted to earlier. Then he turned around and slammed his door shut._

* * *

I had curled into a ball on the floor beside Sandor's bed, trying to hide as best I could. I had heard several pairs of stomping feet storm by, but no one seemed to approach the door. I had locked it and pushed the chest at the foot of his bed out in front of it, hoping to bar anyone's entrance, like he had told me.

My body was still shaking when I heard the muffled sounds of fighting die down. I lifted my head and saw the helm on his mattress. Its cold eyes seemed to stare angrily at me and its jaws were open wide. I tried not to imagine whose blood was streaking the dark metal, but that didn't stop my eyes from welling up.

Sandor had barely given me any information, but I was almost positive I had figured out what had happened. Ned had discovered something—whether it be that Cersei and her twin brother were really lovers or not—and this discovery had led to violence against the Starks. I shuddered to think that the family I had served for the better part of my life had been terrorized so. And what made me feel worse was that I had been spared while so many died.

I nervously clutched at the braid dangling over my shoulder and eyed my lute on the floor by my side. Its safety was of small consolation to me as my thoughts kept flashing to Arya. I tried to fight away the mental image I had of her being dragged away by Lannister soldiers, her face a bloody and bruised mess. I tried to think of happier thoughts, like her getting away with naught but the sword her brother Jon had given her. Her Needle.

Heavy footfalls came closer and I shrunk down, trying to slide under the bed. I suppressed a yelp when there was a loud rap at the door. My eyes squeezed shut and I found myself praying yet again. Though I had felt guilty about my survival, I wasn't quite ready to die.

" _Open the door, girl_!" called the familiar growl.

Swallowing hard, I crawled out from under the bed and went to the door. I shoved the chest out of the way and unlatched the door with my quivering hands. I pulled it open and saw Sandor, his face grave.

He grabbed one of my arms and pushed me inside, closing the door behind him. He leaned down into my face and took my other arm in his grasp. His fingers were tight, sure to leave angry bruises.

"Listen to me, girl," Sandor shook me again. "I'll only say it once. The queen has asked me to bring yeh to her. I told her yeh'd pledged yer loyalties to the Crown. Said she knows, but she has questions to ask yeh."

" _What_ questions?" I asked, feeling panic rising within me.

" _Listen_!" he shook me again, this time more vigorously. "Yeh need to tell her whatever she wants to hear, else yeh're in for a slow and painful death. Yer wolf lord preaches honor and honesty, but yeh're in King's Landing now. Yeh need to lie. It's the only way yeh'll make it out alive. Do yeh understand?"

I nodded, my tears reluctantly falling.

"I'm bringing yeh to the queen. Don't speak to me in any familiar terms. Yeh're my prisoner as far as anyone can tell. Do yeh understand?" he shook me one more time.

"I understand," I choked out.

Sandor stared down at my face. There was fire in his eyes. But there was something else underneath. Not pity. Concern. He let go of my arms after a moment, but stayed in front of me.

"No," he quickly snatched my wrist as I went to wipe my tears. "It's better for the both of us if yeh look scared."

Still holding my wrist, Sandor turned to open the door and pulled me after him. He led me through the empty corridor and up a main spiral staircase. I felt more tears shed as we passed slumping corpses and splattered blood on the wall. I tried to ignore the Stark soldiers littering the corridors we crossed, as well as ignoring the Lannister men staring as we went past.

"Think the Hound will take her like a bitch after the queen is through with her?" one joked to his friend in a hushed tone as he cleaned off his bloody sword with a rag.

"I'll take her after, if there's anything left of her."

I felt Sandor's armored glove digging into my wrist and I wondered if he had heard as well. Gods, I hoped he would be able to protect me from whatever was coming my way.

After walking for what felt like a fortnight, Sandor and I approached a familiar ornate door, which was being guarded by two men in gold armor. Sandor stopped in front of them and thrust me out in front of him, letting go of my wrist.

"The musician," he grumbled. "Queen wanted her."

One of the guards stared at me from behind his gold helm, then reached out to open the door for us. Sandor put his hand between my shoulder blades and shoved me inside before him.

It was the room in which I had sang "The Rains of Castamere" to Cersei not long before. The queen herself was standing by the window, beyond the golden chair she had sat in that night. Another Kingsguard stood in the middle of the room, his hand on the pommel of his sword, glaring down at me. I recognized his sharp, dark eyes.

"The _dog_ has _fetched_ the singer," Meryn Trant sneered.

Cersei turned around and her eyes snapped to me. A smirk appeared on her face and she stepped closer. "I thank you for bringing her to me, Clegane," she said in a voice that almost sounded sweet. "Joffrey and I have been blessed to have such a loyal man as yourself serving us at all times."

Sandor bowed from beside me and took a step back.

"Fallon of Flea Bottom," Cersei continued, stepping closer to me. "I believe you remember the conversation we had about loyalty?"

"I do, Your Grace," I sniffed, curtsying for her.

"You told me that you're loyal to the Crown. But that was before my husband tragically passed from this world to the next one. Clegane vouched for you shortly before he brought you to me. He even said that you would be loyal to your new king, Joffrey. Is this true?"

"It is true, Your Grace," I told her, feeling a lump form in my throat.

"Surely you do feel some sympathy for the Stark family?" Cersei was about two steps away from me when she finally stopped walking. "They did employ you for so many years. And, why, you said it yourself—Arya is like a sister to you."

"The Starks hold a very special place in my heart, that is true," I said, feeling Sandor's eyes on the back of my head.

"Even though their patriarch is a traitor?"

"I don't know just how Lord Stark betrayed the Crown," I said carefully. "But surely he was mistaken. He was grievously injured, was he not? Surely, he was given milk of the poppy. It must have confused him."

Cersei's gaze was sharper than the knife hanging from Meryn Trant's waist. "Who is King Joffrey's _true_ father?"

I took a deep breath, thinking of the "nasty rumor" Ruban had spoken of. I thought of the three Baratheon children—Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen. I could see their golden hair in my mind, just as golden as Cersei's. Just as golden as Jaime's.

 _"Tell her whatever she wants to hear,"_ Sandor's voice hissed inside my head.

"Who else could his father be but Robert Baratheon? May he rest in peace," I curtsied again. The words felt sour in my mouth. I wanted to vomit.

"So smart, you are," Cersei's lips spread into a forced smile. "Though you are still ignorant to your former lord's treasonous words. He would claim that my son, the _rightful heir_ to the throne, grew from the seed of another man.

"Tell me, Fallon, what am I to make of this slander? _King_ Joffrey thinks he should be executed for his crime."

I tried to bite back my tears. Cersei examined my face, then continued speaking.

"A drastic action, I might say. Eddard Stark was a large proponent of mercy. Perhaps spending the rest of his days at the Wall would be the merciful choice," she added.

"I'm sure whatever you decide will be the right punishment," I said quietly. "You are a just and merciful queen."

"The decision will ultimately be Joffrey's. I can only influence him so much."

"I'm sure he will be as just and merciful as his mother."

Cersei smirked at me, as if she could tell how painful this was for me to say, as if she was feeding off my discomfort.

"We have located Sansa. She is still to marry Joffrey when she has her first blood," the queen informed me. "Where is the little dove's _beast_ of a sister?"

I felt a pang in my heart. To say I didn't like the way she was speaking about Arya was an understatement. But the rational part of my brain understood the subtext of her question. The queen had no idea where the little lady was. She must have escaped the castle just in time. I wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but I held it in.

"She could be anywhere and I would have no way of knowing, Your Grace," I answered. "I'm no longer her servant. I've had no reason to see her."

"Very well, then," Cersei replied, then she eyed me for a moment.

"You've rightfully deemed me a just and merciful queen," she finally said. "You have answered my questions _honestly_ and I do so appreciate that. However, you saying that you are loyal to the Crown does not wash away the years of loyalty to the traitorous house that is Stark."

The lump in my throat grew bigger.

"I believe there is one way to stamp out whatever lingering… _affections_ you might feel for the wolves. It is by my _just_ rule that you will be punished for your association with the Starks. Though, by my _mercy_ , you will not be killed, as the rest of the household was."

My mouth felt dry. All of the soldiers, the stewards. Even Septa Mordane. All dead. And there Cersei was, staring at me, expecting me to thank her for only _punishing_ me. I wanted to spit in her eye. I wanted to rip out her golden hair. I wanted to grab her by the throat and squeeze until she could breathe no more.

But I could still feel Sandor's eyes on the back of my head, and I knew what I had to do.

"I c-cannot thank you enough, Your Grace. I fear I am not worthy of your mercy," I said, getting down on all fours.

The hem of her gown swished towards me. "On your knees," she said.

I obeyed and looked up into her eyes. I watched as she reached down and grabbed my braid. She ran her delicate fingers over the twists and turns of the plait, then tugged on the ribbon until it untied. She freed my hair from the braid, letting it fall in waves over my shoulder, tickling the inside of my elbow.

"You wear your hair so long, as if you are of noble blood… But you're not, are you, Fallon of _Flea Bottom_?" Cersei murmured. "Ser Meryn, if you will."

Trant clanked over towards us and Cersei took a step back. He unsheathed the knife at his hip and I felt my heart start to race. He pulled my hair into one solid strand and roughly pulled it closer to him, nearly knocking me off balance. I tried my best not to wince in pain.

Then Trant started hacking away at my hair. I watched as it fell in pieces on the floor before me. My armor. Memories of my childhood flooded back to me. My stomach churned as I remembered what my father had put me through. He had chopped my hair so many times when I was young.

When Trant finished, I clutched at what remained of my hair. It hung to my chin in jagged pieces, some longer, some shorter. I felt tear pricking at my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

"There, I think that suits you better," Cersei cooed, smirking down at me. "However, your punishment is not over. I think ten lashes should do. Ser Meryn."

"N-No, please," I begged, not even realizing the words had escaped my lips until he came up behind me and grabbed what little of a back my dress had. He ripped into it, the strings holding the top of the dress, above the gilded belt underneath my breasts, falling apart. I reached up to hold the fabric to my exposed chest.

My breath hitched as I wait in anticipation for the flogging to begin. I could hear Trant behind me, fumbling with the weapons attached to his hip. Then I heard him step back. And then I heard the crack.

I grunted in pain, refusing to scream.

Another crack.

My back was singing, but I still wouldn't scream.

A third crack.

My eyes squeezed shut and I bit down hard. _Only seven more_ , I rationalized to myself.

"Halt for a moment, Ser Meryn," Cersei interrupted. "It appears as though your message hasn't been received. Perhaps you should start over, hmm?"

I sucked in a deep breath.

 _Crack!_

This time I was unable to suppress anything, shrieking out as the whip hit my tender skin.

 _Crack!_

This was my punishment.

 _Crack!_

Not for my _affections_ for the wolves.

 _Crack!_

But for being loyal to the Starks.

 _Crack!_

And not standing up for their cause.

 _Crack!_

For betraying myself.

 _Crack!_

I deserved this.

 _Crack!_

I deserved more.

 _Crack!_

For being weak

 _Crack!_

For…

* * *

I barely remember falling to the floor. I barely remember my aching, ragged vocal cords. I barely remember the blood seeping out of my wounds. I barely remember the queen saying she wanted me out of my sight. I barely remember Sandor throwing me over his shoulder again. But what I do remember is pain. Searing pain taking me over, clouding my vision, and ultimately leaving me in darkness.

* * *

Oh.

Shit.

Sorry, this one is hella dark (cough-cough, _Game of Thrones_ , cough-cough) and there aren't any cutesy Fallon/Sandor moments, but ya gotta do what ya gotta do, I guess. It hurts me more than it hurts you, I promise.

BUT. I'm working away at the next chapter and I hope to have it done later today! Thank you all for your support and love!


	19. Convalescence

**_Sandor Clegane unlocked_** _his door and stepped inside his chamber. He could hear the faint sound of moaning as he locked the door back up and turned around to see the songbird on his bed._

 _He had taken her to his chamber after having to bear witness to her flogging. He had removed her tattered dress, leaving her only in her thin, white petticoat. Her back had been slashed open, leaving a bloody mess. Sandor had gotten the cleanest rag he could find and washed her back as she lay unconscious on his mattress. He had sought out Grand Maester Pycelle and purchased milk of the poppy, dressings, and a healing salve from him. After applying the salve to her back, Sandor had all but forced the milk of the poppy down her throat and left her to attend to his duties._

 _Though he wasn't a knight, Sandor had been inducted into the Kingsguard. Joffrey and his mother had removed Lord Commander Barristan Selmy, replacing him with Jaime Lannister—even though the man was still in the Riverlands—and so had replaced the bloody Kingslayer with the bloody Hound. Selmy, enraged that he had been let go before his death, as per the vows, refused the keep and servants he had been offered. He had removed his armor and thrown his sword to the ground, telling Joffrey to add it to the throne._

 _Sandor walked over to the girl on his bed and removed the dressing on her back to avoid her skin healing over the fabric. He made sure the angry cuts on her back were not infected before taking off his gauntlets and reapplying the salve._

 _"San…"_

 _He glanced down at her. Her right cheek was against the pillow, her left side out to the open. Her eye was barely open and her lips were slowly moving, though no other sound had escaped._

 _"Rest, girl," Sandor told her quietly._

 _"…Hurts."_

 _Sandor wiped the excess ointment on the clean side of the old dressing and reached over to his bedside table to grab the vial of white liquid. "Drink," he said, angling her head so he could pour it into her mouth._

 _She moaned again, her heavily-lidded eye closing. A lock of her brown hair fell over her forehead and Sandor pushed it away, his fingers dragging across her soft, smooth skin. Her lips were still moving, only much slower._

 _"Ar…ya," she managed to sound out before the milk of the poppy took over her._

 _Sandor shook his head and grabbed a new bandage, a wide piece of fabric._ Stupid girl, not screaming _, he thought as he laid it over the thirteen slashes across her back, three more than she had been sentenced._ Stupid, brave girl _._

 _He tucked the edges of the new dressing under her front, feeling the bare skin of her stomach. It had been a long time since he had felt the skin of a woman. But he removed his hands quickly. He would not take advantage of the songbird._

 _Sandor straightened up and noticed the dark rings around both of her arms as they lay by her sides. Bruises he had left when he grabbed her._ "You won't hurt me," _she had said to him so many times. Gods, he had hoped she was right._

 _Try as he might, Sandor could not get the sound of Trant's whip cracking out of his head. That and her bloodcurdling screams that had followed until her body crumpled to the floor, a bloody, broken mess. He had heard many screams in his time, but nothing had compared to what he had heard in the queen's chamber—save for maybe the sound of his own cries at the hand of his brother so long ago._

 _Gritting his teeth, Sandor stepped back from the mattress and stole one last look at the sleeping girl. Her face had been contorted, but was softening as the milk of the poppy continued to work its way through her body. He didn't leave his chamber until the wrinkle between her eyebrows smoothed out and her frown spread itself into a straight line._

* * *

 _Crack!_

My eyes snapped open. I looked for the source of the sound in the darkness. My heart was pounding in panic until realization set it. _It was only a dream_ , I told myself. Feeling thirsty, I tried to push myself off of the mattress I was laying on, but my arms felt like they were made of lead. In fact, my whole body felt like it was made of lead.

I hissed through my teeth when the pain shot through my body. My eyes watered and I grimaced, feeling the wrath of all thirteen lashes against my back at once. I saw Cersei smirking down at me as Meryn Trant exacted the punishment she had laid out for me.

I gasped as soon as I felt the motion beside me. Someone was laying down on the bed with me. Whoever it was, they grabbed onto my wrist with their large, rough hand, squeezing tightly. Panicked yet again, I tried to scoot my body away from this person, but I could hardly move myself at all between the heaviness and the pain.

"Please don't hurt me," I whimpered, my voice rusty.

The hand on my wrist hesitated for a moment, then loosened, then let go altogether.

"I won't hurt you, girl," a deep, raspy voice murmured.

"S-Sandor? Is that you?" I choked out, unable to see anything in the pitch blackness. "P-Please tell me it's you."

The man beside me was quiet, but I could feel him trying to stare at me. Then I heard a shuffling sound and felt the mattress shift. Big feet touched the stone floor and took a step away. A curtain was pushed to the side, letting moonlight pour in through the window.

I could see the tall man now, standing before the window, bare-chested and powerful. Though he was half-shrouded in darkness, I could see his eyes on me, and I started to feel much calmer.

"Aye, it's me," said the figure bathed in the ray of cold light. "No need to be afraid, girl. I won't hurt you."

"I know you won't," I whispered, a bitter smile cracking my lips. "Forgive me, I woke you."

"Wasn't asleep," Sandor shrugged, coming back to the bed. "Was beginning to think _you'd_ never wake, though." He sat down on his side of the mattress and eased himself down to lay on his back, his hands folded over his stomach.

"How long have I…?"

"Day and a half," he told me, resting his chin on his shoulder to look at me.

"Has anyone found Arya?" I asked.

"No, not yet."

"And Sansa…is she safe?"

"The little bird is locked in her cage."

I furrowed my brow, but didn't press the matter.

"What of Ned Stark?"

"In the dungeons. Hasn't confessed yet."

A thick silence fell over us and I tried my hardest to move my left hand up to my face to wipe at the tears threatening to fall. My hand slid slowly across the rough sheet underneath me, finally lifting up to touch my cheek.

"Yer back?" Sandor asked.

"It hurts," I told him, rubbing at my eye. "But not as much as it did before."

"Good," he leaned his head back against his pillow. "Means I'll get my room back to myself soon."

"You're keeping me in your room?" I asked.

"Safest place for yeh to recover," he sighed, closing his eyes. "Go back to sleep."

More silent tears fell down my cheeks as I stared at the moonlight lining his profile. I couldn't believe that he cared enough to do this for me. For _Fallon of Flea Bottom_. I was no one—not a lady, not a princess, not a queen. I should have been _nothing_ to him. And yet he had done me another selfless kindness.

"Seven save you, Sandor Clegane," I whispered.

* * *

 _"Seven save you, Sandor Clegane," she had said to him when she thought he couldn't hear her._

 _She'd said it to him once before, the night she let Thoros of fucking Myr get her drunk and send her to his chamber. But it didn't have the same weight as the tearful whisper did. She had meant it with every fiber of her being. She truly was thankful for him, and it was hard for him to get used to. Most people were apt to be thankful when he was gone, rather than when he was around. But Fallon wasn't most people, was she?_

 _"Seven save you, Sandor Clegane." The words had been in his head all day, from the time he pulled himself out of his bed, to the time he reluctantly recited his Kingsguard vows, to the time he was fitted for his new golden armor, to the time he sauntered back to his chambers for the night._

 _He unlocked the door, as he had taken to locking it while Fallon convalesced, and found the songbird standing at the window. She had wrapped herself in a dark cloak that Sandor recognized as his own._

 _"I hope you don't mind. I needed to cover myself up," Fallon turned around, a guilty look in her eyes as she hugged the cloak closer to herself._

 _Sandor stared at her and started taking his armor off. He watched her gulp and turn back around, showing him the back of her shaggy head. Trant was no barber, Sandor couldn't help thinking. Moments later, he put his armor outside of his door and locked it, stepping over to girl in his cloak._

 _"Yer back?" he asked again._

 _"The pain has eased significantly," Fallon responded, pivoting to make eye contact with him. "I cannot thank you enough for taking such care of me."_

 _Sandor took a deep breath. "Let me see."_

 _Fallon nodded slowly and turned around, lowering the cloak. Sandor looked at the lacerations and noted how they seemed to continue to heal well. He stalked over to the chest at the foot of his mattress and opened it, grabbing a clean, tan-colored shirt. He returned to Fallon, who had turned around, the cloak around her shoulders again._

 _"Here," he said, thrusting the shirt towards her._

 _"Thank you," she replied, carefully reaching out to take it from him._

 _Sandor went to sit on his bed and took off his boots. Out of his peripheral vision he could see Fallon turn her back to him and drop the cloak to the floor, leaving her only in her petticoat, until she gingerly slipped her arms through the sleeves of his shirt and tied it up as best as she could. It was far too big for her, hanging almost to her knees._

 _"What happened?" she asked, walking over to him._

 _"Yer wolf lord stuck his snout where it didn't belong," Sandor told her as she stood across from him. "Said the kingdom belongs to Robert's brother."_

 _"Stannis?" Fallon cocked a brow._

 _"Aye," Sandor nodded._

 _"And…_ does _it?"_

 _Sandor reached out and grabbed her forearms, pulling her closer. She gasped and stared at him with wide-eyes._

 _"Don't be asking foolish questions like that or yeh'll wish the queen had yeh killed in the purge," he hissed through his teeth._

 _Fallon bobbed her head silently, her eyes slowly shrinking back to normal. Her lips parted, as if she was going to say something, but no words escaped her mouth._

 _"Yer wolf girl hasn't been found yet," Sandor remarked, assuming that's what she would have asked about. "If she has any sense left in her, she'll stay hidden."_

 _"She's smarter than anyone gives her credit for," Fallon murmured, looking down at her arms where Sandor was still holding onto her._

 _He knew he should have let go of her by now, but there was something in him that wouldn't entertain the notion. She was the only good thing in his life. She was the only person who seemed to give two fucks about him. The only person who saw through his grumpy-at-best exterior._

 _But she was too good for him. With her striking eyes and her porcelain skin, she was quite beautiful—even after her long hair had been chopped. Sure, she had her own damage, what with her shit of a father, but she had managed to grow up well-adjusted. She hadn't steeled herself to the world around her. She was lucky in that way. Lucky or very stupid._

 _"That nance you were running with," Sandor said, breaking the silence between them. "He the one yeh're betrothed to?"_

 _Fallon's eyes snapped up to him. Her lips were in a tight line. "I'm not marrying him," she said. "Not for a thousand Gold Dragons."_

 _"He's a pretty boy," Sandor smirked, trying to get under her skin yet again._

 _"Yes, Sterlan is very pretty," Fallon bounced her eyebrows. "But, as I've already told you, I don't much care for looks." She pulled her arms back, letting his hands slide down until she could grab onto his hands, interlocking her fingers with his._

 _"The hell are you doing?" he asked._

 _"I wanted to thank you…again," Fallon said in a soft voice, staring at him with something in her eyes he had never seen before. "Thank you for taking care of me. Thank you for making sure I was safe during the…"_

 _Sandor looked at the woman standing between his knees. He didn't know quite what to say, so he just stared into her piercing gray-green eyes. He watched as one of her hands released itself from his and raised itself to the scarred side of his face. His body involuntarily tensed up, but this time he didn't do anything to stop her._

 _"May I?" she breathed, as if unsure she should even dare._

 _Sandor nodded once and watched as her hand slowly came closer to his scar. He shut his eyes when the soft skin of her palm finally made contact, her other hand resting on his shoulder. He could feel her shaky breath on his face and, without thinking, he put both of his hands on her hips. Fallon twitched, but then she leaned forward, letting him know it was okay for him to touch her._

 _He gritted his teeth as Fallon's fingers traced the warped flesh on the right side of his forehead. It had been decades since his brother shoved his face to the fire, but he remembered it like it happened just this day. The pain was excruciating. And sometimes he could still feel it._

 _"Thank you," Fallon whispered._

 _Sandor opened his eyes and saw how close her face was to his. She hesitated for a moment, then put both of her hands on his cheeks._

 _"The hell are you doing?" he repeated himself._

 _Fallon looked at him and gave him a sheepish smile. Then she leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. Pulling back, she placed her forehead against his._

 _Sandor couldn't even begin to understand why she had done this. It was like the dwarf had said to him back in Winterfell—_ "As if something so fine could ever love a _hound_ like you." _But there she was, standing before him, holding his ugly, marred face in her hands, leaning in to kiss him once more._

 _"Yeh don't want this," Sandor reclined his head back. "You can do much better than me, girl."_

 _Fallon looked hurt. Her eyes searched his as she shook her head. "I can't," she whispered. "I don't want to be with a pretty boy like Sterlan. I want to be with someone who makes me feel safe. I want to be with someone who cares about me. I want to be with someone strong and powerful and… I want_ you _, Sandor. I truly do."_

 _For once in his life, Sandor had felt loved by another. It was a strange feeling, an uncomfortable feeling, but not an unwelcome feeling._

 _Against his better judgment, Sandor pulled her closer to him and crashed his lips against her. His fingers knotted in the shirt he had given her. He felt her wrap her arms around his neck, passionately kissing him back unlike anyone had before._

 _After a moment, Fallon separated from him and sat down on his thigh. She rested her head against his chest and breathed in rhythm with him. He put one hand on her hip furthest away from him and put the other on the side of her thigh, cradling her to him as best he could without touching her back._

 _"You're all I have here, Sandor," she said quietly against his heart. "I am yours and you are mine."_

* * *

 **You're welcome.**


	20. Baelor

**I pulled the** belt of my robe around me as tightly as I dared and walked to the door. A strong hand had pounded on the wood and a harsh voice had called out that the queen was outside of my chamber.

I opened the door, grimacing as I sank into a painful curtsy. "Your Grace," I strained.

The queen stood before me, surrounded on both sides by soldiers in dark red armor. She was holding a folded up dress in her arms.

"I see you're recovering well," Cersei breathed.

"I am, Your Grace," I told her. "Please, come in."

She looked around in my chamber and then smirked at me. "I have no desire to enter. I only wish to bring you this," she said, holding out the dress.

"Many thanks, Your Grace," I bowed my head, taking it from her. "I shall wear this proudly."

"Yes, well, I suppose you shall," Cersei arched a brow, a knowing look in her eyes. "People will stare as you walk past. And they will know what happens to those who have supported traitors."

I furrowed my brow, wondering what she meant.

"The bells will ring today, Fallon. I expect you to be present outside the Sept of Baelor to watch your Lord Stark confess his treason. I expect you to watch as your rightful king sentences him," she said coldly. Then she turned around and walked away, her guards following her.

With a sigh, I closed the door and unfolded the dress, holding it up in the air before me. It was the same color and was made of the same thin, flowing material as my old dress, but it wasn't the same design. I laid it out on my bed and removed my robe before stepping into the dress. To my dismay, I noticed that the dress had a halter top with absolutely no back to it whatsoever.

I stared at myself in my mirror, looking at the unevenness of my hair, looking at the angry marks on my back, looking at my pale, gaunt face. I could no longer see the happy young woman who normally stared back at me, smiling before attending to the little lady she loved so much.

I could only see the child escaping from King's Landing in the caravan, clutching her small lute in her grimy hands, hoping for a new and better life.

* * *

 _BONG…BONG…BONG…_

I tried to swallow the knot in my throat as I walked through the castle gate. A large amount of pressure had settled on my chest as my mind swirled with anxiety. And if I weren't so worried about Ned Stark's fate, I might have been bothered by the whispers and wide eyes following me.

 _BONG…BONG…BONG…_

The Sept of Baelor was host to a large crowd of people, commoners and castle staff alike, to see the king's justice enacted. I worked my way through the people, past the statue of Baelor the Blessed himself, having noticed a familiar head of red hair in the middle of the audience. As I came closer to him, I saw the beard and the jagged scar that had been carved down his face. Though Ruban had his moments, I found it comforting to see a familiar person.

 _BONG…BONG…BONG…_

He was standing by a few other court musicians I hadn't spent much time with. Sterlan was nowhere in sight. I stepped to Ruban's side, not saying anything, so as not to cause a scene. But sure enough, I brushed up against his elbow accidentally. He looked down at me, doing a double-take.

"Fallon?" he asked in an incredulous voice.

"Aye," I whispered, looking up at the people on the stage before the Sept.

Several guards stood above the crowd, in front of several banners featuring seven-pointed stars. There was Grand Maester Pycelle, the High Septon, Littlefinger, and Lord Varys—the Master of Whisperers, a bald man whom I had heard was a eunuch. On a higher platform of the stage, more guards stood with King Joffrey, Queen Cersei, and young Sansa.

And there on the main part of the stage behind Pycelle, was Sandor, stoic as ever. A bitter smile found its way to my face, for seeing him was the only good thing about this moment.

"What has happened to you? We haven't seen you in some time. And you look…" Ruban trailed off.

"Queen's justice," I muttered, not wanting to speak any more of it.

"We were afraid you'd been killed. Sterlan said you'd been taken by the Hound."

"I wasn't _taken_ ," I shook my head slowly. "I went with him of my own volition."

"It matters not either way," Ruban sighed. "Sterlan will be pleased to know you're alive and well."

 _'Well'_ , I scoffed in my head. _Tell that to the wounds on my back._

"He says he's asked you to marry him," Ruban elbowed me.

Of course this daft fucker would think this is the perfect time to bring it up…

"He didn't _ask_ ," I couldn't help but correct him. "He told me he'd bide his time until I was ready."

"Ah, well…" Ruban shrugged. "Has it been long enough?"

"I'm n—"

"THERE'S THE TRAITOR!" someone shouted from behind us as the crowd started loudly jeering. Fingers and crutches were raised in the air, cruelly pointing forward.

I watched as a disheveled Ned Stark was led out of a dark tunnel by two guards. He stared out into the mass in a daze until he was pushed ahead into it, disappearing amongst the angry mob. I could barely even see the guards' helms above the shouting people as they led Lord Stark up to the stage.

"TRAITOR!"

"COWARD!"

My heart grew heavy. Ned Stark was neither of those things. He was a good, noble man, thrust into this world. He never asked to be Hand. He had been content as Warden of the North. He had been happy at home with his family. He did not deserve this treatment, and he surely did not deserve whatever punishment Joffrey was about to dole out.

Ned was finally dragged up to the stage and planted in the middle of it, the guards leaving his sides. The bells finally stopped ringing and the crowd quieted as they stared at the man with his hands cuffed behind his back.

"I am Eddard Stark," he said in his clear voice, "Lord of Winterfell…and Hand of the King." He paused for a moment, turning his head to look at Sansa, who stared back at him, nodding her head the slightest bit. "I come before you to confess my treason…"

I could tell the words had a sour taste in his mouth as he said them. He was lying, which I knew gave him great pains. But he must have been doing so for Sansa's safety, finally putting reason before honor for once in his life.

"…in the sight of gods and men. I betrayed the faith of my king and the trust of my friend, Robert. I swore to protect and defend his children. But before his blood was cold, I plotted to murder his son…and seize the throne for myself."

The crowd started jeering loudly again. My heart was sinking, as I knew there was absolutely no truth to his words. There was no way in all seven hells that Eddard Stark wanted the throne.

"Bloody traitor," Ruban shook his head beside me.

There was a pang in my chest and there were tears in my eyes. This was Ned, the young man who would watch me play for his sister and offer me kind words. The man who helped me learn to ride a horse before he was whisked off to fight in Robert's Rebellion. The man who trusted me to take care of his youngest daughter.

"TRAITOR!"

An onion was thrown at Lord Stark's head, knocking him over. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, grimacing at the disrespect shown to my former lord.

When I opened my eyes, I saw that Sandor had stepped forward to grab his arm, steadying Ned. The bitter smile returned to my face before Sandor let go and turned back to his post.

"Let the High Septon and Baelor the Blessed bear witness to what I say," Ned continued. He paused for another moment, having to brace himself first. "Joffrey Baratheon…is the one true heir to the Iron Throne…by the grace of all the gods…Lord of the Seven Kingdoms…and Protector of the Realm."

The crowd erupted again, only this time in a mixture of cheers _and_ jeers, as if celebrating the message, but condemning the messenger.

"As…As we sin," Grand Maester Pycelle stammered, having hobbled forward, "so do we suffer. This man has confessed his crimes…in sight of gods and men. The gods are just…but beloved Baelor taught us they can also be merciful." Pycelle turned to look up at Joffrey on the higher platform. "What is to be done with this traitor, Your Grace?"

The crowd hollered and pointed towards the stage.

"HANG HIM!"

"GUT HIM!"

"LET 'IM ROT IN THE DUNGEONS!"

Joffrey raised a hand, halting the cries of his people.

"My mother wishes me to let Lord Eddard join the Night's Watch," he called out. "Stripped of all titles and powers, he would serve the realm in permanent exile."

I crossed my fingers before me for good luck, hoping by the grace of the Seven that it might work.

"And my Lady Sansa," Joffrey turned to look at her, "has begged mercy for her father."

I squeezed my fingers together tightly, not realizing right away that I was holding my breath.

"But they have the soft hearts of _women_ ," Joffrey sneered. "So long as I am your king…treason shall never go unpunished. Ser Ilyn…" he turned to the executioner in the crowd by the other side of the stage. "Bring me his head!"

My jaw dropped and my heart began pounding. I watched as Sansa screamed after the king, a Kingsguard grabbing her from behind. Even Cersei had turned to her son, a grave look on her face as she said something to him.

The crowd around us cheered. Ruban looked at me once more, confusion on his face. But then he seemed to remember that I had once been a part of House Stark and he offered me a wistful smile, reaching down to grab one of my hands as two guards grabbed Ned and pushed him onto his knees.

Ilyn Payne strutted onto the stage, throwing his black hood over his head, covering everything but his cold eyes. He walked over to the platform, where the Stark's ancestral sword, Ice, lay in its sheath. He pulled it out, holding the enormous Valyrian steel sword in the air.

"TRAITOR!"

"OFF WITH 'IS 'EAD!"

Ned looked off into the crowd for a moment, as if trying to find something specifically. Then he bowed his head, his messy brown hair hanging down. Feeling overcome with emotion at seeing him this way, I leaned against Ruban's arm, clenching his hand tightly.

But when Ilyn Payne approached Ned, I buried my face in Ruban's sleeve. I couldn't watch as the sword was raised higher in the air. I could only listen to the sickening sound of the brutal decapitation amidst the cheers in the crowd.

Tears poured down my face as the cheers grew louder. There was a loud flapping of wings above us, as I imagined a flock of pigeons would be spooked by the horrifying noise of a blade slicing through someone's neck.

"Fallon, your back!" Ruban gasped over my head, but I didn't respond. I was too distraught. And my own punishment was of no importance to me at this moment.

Ned Stark was dead.

* * *

There were still tears streaming down my face as I stood up to my calves in the water, staring out into space. My shaking hands were tightly holding my skirts up above my knees, helping the fabric avoid the tiny waves splashing against my shins. A light breeze blew back what remained of my hair.

A pair of footsteps started descending the stairs behind me, but I couldn't have been bothered to turn and see who was coming. Not even when the person trudged across the rocky beach behind me.

"Fallon?" he called out, an air of incredulity in his voice.

I gulped, looking down at the water around my legs.

"Ruban said…he said you were alive. He said you came here after the execution," Sterlan said. "He said you looked as though you had been…"

Instead of responding after his voice trailed off, I took a step forward in the water, careful of the drop-off ahead of me.

"Are you…are you alright, my love?" Sterlan asked.

I grimaced at the last two words, but I still didn't have it in me to say anything. I readjusted my grip on my skirts.

"I was so worried," he continued. "The Hound took you…and then you were gone for days. I never thought I'd see you again. And now…"

I wanted Sterlan to leave. I wanted him to turn around and never say another word to me. I wanted to run to Sandor and throw my arms around him. I wanted to jump on Shevaun and ride off far away from King's Landing. I wanted to find Arya. I wanted to turn back time and convince Ned never to take on the position of Hand. I wanted to dive into the water and swim to Essos and live in the Free Cities with my mother.

"Please, Fallon," Sterlan begged. "Please say something."

Gulping again, I turned around slowly and found him standing at the edge of the water. His dark eyes were focused on me, his mouth curved in a frown.

"I don't love you," I finally said, my voice ragged.

"What?" he furrowed his brow.

"I never _have_ loved you. I never _will_ love you."

"Fallon—"

"Find yourself someone who will," I interrupted. "A girl you can look pretty with."

Sterlan gaped at me. He looked hurt and angry, but I couldn't have cared less in this moment. I turned back around, my eyes on the horizon.

There was a tense silence between us that seemed to go on forever. He continued to stare at me, as if expecting me to turn around and change my mind. But there was no part of me that would ever reconsider, so I didn't move.

At last, when I heard Sterlan's retreating footsteps, I breathed a sigh of relief.

* * *

I gripped the fabric of Sandor's muted green shirt and pressed my ear over his heart. The steady beat started to relax me. One of his hands lay on the back of my head, holding me against him.

The two of us were standing in my dimly-lit chamber. Sandor had knocked on my door in the middle of the night, as if knowing that I needed to see him. I had so badly wanted to make my way to his own chamber, but he had told me so many times not to do so. And I could imagine now that he was on the Kingsguard he had more responsibilities, so he likely wouldn't have been there anyway. I was pleasantly surprised that he had made time to find me, though, even if he did wake me from my slumber.

"Joffrey is a monster," I whispered against his chest.

"Aye, that he is," Sandor replied.

"How could he do that? How could he demand Ned's…?" I trailed off, my eyes watering.

"I told yeh, there aren't many as noble and honorable as your bloody wolf lord was. Not in this shit city."

"Shit city is right," I laughed bitterly. "I never thought I would come back here. I always thought my bones would rest in the North, far away from this terrible place."

I stepped back and turned to go sit atop my mattress. I pulled my robe closer around me, looking over my shoulder at Sandor.

"Yer not dead yet, girl," he said.

"'Yet' being the operative word," I bounced my eyebrows. "I'm astonished that I've made it this far, what with how the queen feels about me. I sometimes worry she'll send an assassin to kill me. Perhaps she will when she loses joy in tormenting me…"

"Anyone lays a hand on yeh and it'll be them who's dead," Sandor grumbled.

"Even if that person is wearing a crown?"

" _'Specially_ if that person's wearing a crown."

A smile tugged at the corners of my lips. I patted the spot next to me on the bed and he started to come over, walking slowly. His eyes were locked on mine and I felt my body warming up inside. When he sat down, I grabbed his face and pulled it closer to mine, kissing him long and hard.

"Wouldn't hurt to keep yer nose clean, though," Sandor told me after pulling away from me, his hands on my shoulders. I lowered my own to my lap, folding them over each other.

"I try to," I said defensively. "Believe you me, the last thing I want to do is ruffle the queen's feathers. I fear our personalities just don't match up."

Sandor looked into my eyes for a moment, then his mouth cracked into a smirk. "Yeh _do_ have a way of annoying the piss out of others."

I felt my cheeks heat up in embarrassment and I pursed my lips sheepishly.

"But I did grow on you…eventually."

"Aye, that yeh did."

Sandor hesitated before leaning in to kiss me. His lips were inexperienced against mine, though I couldn't judge him. I hadn't kissed many, myself. In fact, my first kiss had been given to a stable boy, not long after Benjen had traveled north to the Wall and joined the Night's Watch. Then there was the squire who had broken my heart, leaving me for a girl who eventually became a septa.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and inched myself closer to him. After a moment, he softened his grip on my shoulders and pulled away so we could catch our breath.

"Could I ask you a favor?" I breathed, pressing my forehead against his.

"Mm," he grunted, resting a hand on my thigh.

"W-Will you stay with me tonight?" I stammered nervously.

"Girl."

"Please," I slid one of my hands down to his arm, clasping his bicep. "I don't want to be alone."

Sandor heaved a great sigh and squeezed my thigh. His mouth opened to respond, but he was cut off by a loud _BANG!_ I whipped my head around, feeling Sandor quickly rise from my bed, letting go of me. My door had been forced open and a pair of wide, bloodshot eyes stared back at me.

" _Fallon_?"


	21. A Funny Song

**"Sterlan?" I gasped** in response.

"What is _he_ doing here?" Sterlan said in a garbled voice, pointing a finger at the man standing beside me.

"I'll take care of him" Sandor muttered behind me.

I raised a hand to stop him mid-step, my eyes refusing to leave the clearly drunken intruder.

"Did he hurt you?" Sterlan asked.

"You need to leave," I said firmly. "Find yourself some water and get some rest."

"Not until you tell me what he's done to you!" Sterlan bellowed. "What are those bruises on your arms?"

I glanced down at the fading green-ish yellow and purple marks under my skin. Sandor had indeed given me those finger-shaped bruises shortly before my flogging, but he had been intending to help me rather than hurt me.

"Did he tear open your back as well?!" Sterlan continued, his voice getting louder with each word. "Did he _rape_ you?!"

"Do _not_ imply that Sandor would _ever_ hurt me," I replied coldly before Sandor himself could react.

Sterlan's eyes searched my face for a moment, his chest heaving along with his shallow breaths.

"You really _have_ been fucking the dog this whole time, then," he stumbled forward. "'Sat why you won't marry me?"

"We've never—"

"Don't explain yerself to this cunt," Sandor growled. I could almost feel his anger bubbling. He was obviously holding himself back for me. "He doesn't deserve it."

" _Please_ leave, Sterlan," I implored through my teeth. "We can forget this all happened."

"No," the drummer shook his head, his eyes ablaze.

"Leave, boy, or you'll wish you did," Sandor threatened.

Sterlan was silent, his eyes shifting from my own to the brown pair looming over my head. Tension had fallen over us all like a thick blanket. And then with a loud grunt, Sterlan lunged forward.

"Stop!" I jumped up as Sandor dove out to meet the smaller man. "Please!"

My cries fell on deaf ears. I watched as Sterlan swung his fists. Whatever he had drank earlier must have made him think he had a chance to do some damage.

But Sandor was much stronger and much quicker. He grabbed Sterlan's wrists and shoved the drummer's back against the wall, knocking the wind out of him. Sandor whipped him around, letting go of his wrists, and delivered a blow that threw Sterlan to the ground.

I darted out in front of Sandor and grabbed his forearms before he could do anything else. Sandor looked at me as if I was mad, fire still in his eyes.

"The fuck you doing?" he hissed.

"Don't hurt him anymore," I shook my head, glancing down at Sterlan as he sluggishly writhed on the floor. "Please. For me."

Sandor stared down at me, breathing deeply. "Fine," he grunted.

Then he straightened his body, his arms relaxing in my tight grasp. I let go and he nudged me out of the way to stand at the drummer's feet.

"Yeh tell anyone what you saw tonight and it'll be the last time yeh see anything," Sandor threatened, reaching down to pull Sterlan up by his collar.

Dazed, Sterlan nodded, an ugly bruise forming on his face.

"Yeh got off easy this time, boy," Sandor shook him a little.

Sterlan's nodded again. He was returned to his feet and then shoved to the door by Sandor. Sterlan fumbled his way to the latch and slipped away into the darkness.

"Thank you," I whispered, staring at the door after it closed.

"Should've let me kill that nance," Sandor told me, turning to sit on my bed. "Only way to keep him from talking."

"I don't care if he talks," I shrugged and pivoted to look at him. "I'm not ashamed of being with you."

Sandor's eyebrow twitched. I could have sworn that one of the corners of his lips raised a bit too.

"'Snot about pride or shame," he sighed, reaching down to pull off his boots. "If word gets back to the queen and you keep annoying the piss outta her…"

A knot appeared in my throat as my mind flashed back to the purge and Cersei's quiet wrath.

"I didn't think about it that way," I wrapped my arms around myself.

"Course you didn't," Sandor cracked his neck and pulled at the strings of his shirt.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I furrowed my brow, for once not tempted to glance down at his chest.

"Been telling yeh to be more careful as long as I've known yeh. How many times have I had to remind you that yeh're not in the North anymore?" Sandor asked in frustrated tone. "Yer wolf lord was as noble and righteous as they bloody come and look what it got him. I held up his fucking head not ten seconds after it left his body. My squire'll be washing yer wolf lord off my boots for weeks."

My lip trembled and I looked down at the floor. His words stung worse than Meryn Trant's whip, but I knew I needed to hear them.

"You're right," I mumbled, looking up after a few breaths of silence.

"Come here."

Sandor's eyes had softened, as had his voice. I stepped around my bed and stood between his knees as I had so many times before. He grabbed onto my hands and sighed again before speaking.

"I'm only trying to keep yer head where it's meant to be, girl," he said.

"Thank you," I nodded, a smile creeping onto my face. "I appreciate it."

Sandor tugged me closer, his hands finding a new home on my waist. I wrapped my arms around his neck and melted into his warm chest. He placed a kiss on my shoulder and rubbed circles into my sides with his thumbs.

We stayed like this for a long time, savoring the feel of each other's bodies against our own. My insides fluttered madly as his hands slid down to squeeze my hips.

"So, am I to assume this means you're going to stay here tonight?" I asked, leaning back to look in his eyes.

He shrugged and smirked a little. "Someone's got to keep you safe from nighttime intruders."

* * *

 _Sandor Clegane didn't sleep much that night. But how could he have been expected to? he wondered, looking over to his side._

 _The moonlight that poured through the songbird's window illuminated the angry scars on Fallon's otherwise smooth back. Much of her pale skin was on display in the flimsy white nightgown she had on, not that Sandor was complaining._

 _Rolling onto his side and resting up on one elbow, Sandor remembered the first time he had seen Fallon wearing it. It was the night he had come to her chamber to retrieve his bloody wineskin._

 _Though he was never known to be a ray of sunshine to those around him, he'd been in a particularly angry mood that night. And for many reasons—the largest of which being his visit the night prior. He had gotten himself drunk enough to enter her room when she wasn't there and wait for her to return. All just to ask her why she wasn't afraid of him, the simple question that had been plaguing him for so long._

 _She had grabbed his hands and told him she trusted him. He had pulled her so close that he could smell the soap on her body; so close that he lost himself for a moment and almost kissed her._

 _He spent most of the next day stewing over his behavior and wishing he had never left his own fucking room. He found that having left his wineskin in her chamber, instead of having it at his side to nurse throughout the day, only made matters worse. By the time he had arrived at her chamber he was irritated beyond belief._

 _And then she had to open the door in that fucking nightgown._

 _Her face had gone bright red when she saw him staring down at her. His eyes wandered down the lowcut front and his lack of self-control made him angrier. He had been a right arse to her, nearly mowing her down so he could grab the wineskin and leave before he did something else he might regret._

 _She wouldn't have any of it, though. She gave it right back to him, where others would have cowered and kept their mouths shut. She was brave, he remembered thinking, or stupid. Or both._

 _Definitely both._

 _Though she had proclaimed her trust in him the previous night, she had proven it to him while she sat there in that distracting, irritating, stunning damned nightgown. Curled into herself, she had told him of her sordid past, crying and stammering the whole way through. He didn't know how to comfort her. He only knew that he had to make her despicable cunt of a father pay for what he had done to the songbird that Sandor cared about so much._

 _And while she had been a sight to behold that evening, standing at the door with her hair hanging long and her body unmarred, he couldn't help but think she was even more beautiful as she was beside him on the bed._

 _One of her legs was stretched out while the other was bent, the inside of her thigh flat against the mattress. Her face was turned away from him, only showing the uneven mess of brown hair hanging from her scalp. Her arms were bent at awkward angles beside her and her mostly naked, scarred back was in full view._

 _He yearned to reach out and touch her, but he didn't want to disturb her slumber. He was content to lay beside her and listen to her steady breathing instead, he decided as he rolled back onto his back and closed his eyes in vain._

 _No, Sandor Clegane didn't get much sleep that night. But how could he have been expected to?_

* * *

My stomach felt tight as I watched the bearded man sit on his haunches and ready his psaltery. The traveling troubadour named Marillion looked nervous to be singing before the new king as he held court. He had been caught singing a not-so favorable song he'd written about recent events in King's Landing and was asked to perform it again.

" _The boar's great tusks, they boded ill_ ," he sang, plucking at his instrument in the otherwise silent hall, " _For good King Robert's health. And the beast was every bit as fat as Robert was himself._ "

"Fucking idiot," Elras muttered in my ear from beside me.

We were standing behind a pillar off to the side with Vernyn and Ruban. Sterlan hadn't made an appearance, which I was quite thankful for. He must have heeded Sandor's warning and not spoken a word about what had happened last night, as none of our fellow musicians said a thing to me about it.

" _Our brave king cried, 'Do your worst, I'll 'ave your ugly head. You're nowhere near as murderous as the lion in my bed'._ "

Uncomfortable watching Marillion as he played, I turned my head and found a familiar person not too far away from us. Sansa Stark was standing at another pillar, by a set of stairs that led down to the court, looking tall and beautiful in her mauve-colored gown. Her auburn-hair was twisted over her head in the pompous Southern-style she had adopted in the past few months, but I could tell from her body-language that she longed to be as far away from King's Landing as she could be.

" _King Robert lost his battle and he failed his final test. The lion ripped his balls off aaaaand…the boar did all the rest_."

"Fuc…king…idiot," Elras repeated himself slower as the hall echoed with whispers from the court.

King Joffrey started to clap his hands lazily, initiating applause from the simpering lords and ladies standing behind poor Marillion. The young king was smiling with his bottom lip between his teeth, but I had a feeling he was only pleased with whatever punishment was brewing in his head, rather than the troubadour's song.

"Very amusing," he said once the clapping had faded. "Isn't it a funny song?"

Joffrey had raised his voice to the audience, but no one responded. He grinned and leaned against one arm of the Iron Throne and filled the tense silence.

"Thank you for your rendition. I imagine it was even better-received at that tavern."

"I'm so sorry, Your Grace," Marillion interjected as he got to his feet. "I'll never sing it again. I swear."

"Famous last words," Vernyn whispered on the other side of me.

"Tell me, which do you favor—your fingers or your tongue?" Joffrey asked, his tone still playful, for lack of better word.

My stomach felt even tighter. And though I knew she couldn't see me, I could only imagine Cersei was deriving great pleasure from me witnessing this.

"…Your Grace?" Marillion gulped.

" _Fingers_ or your _tongue_. If you've got to keep one, which would it be?" Joffrey explained, his tone finally revealing his ire.

"Uh…uh…" Marillion stammered.

"Or I could just cut your throat."

"…E-Every man needs hands, Your Grace."

"Good," Joffrey murmured, a smile creeping on his face. "Your tongue it is."

"Your Grace, please," Marillion begged as two guards strode towards him and grabbed his arms. "I won't— _Your Grace_."

"Ser Ilyn, who better than you to carry out the sentence?" Joffrey leaned forward.

"Don't! I beg you! Please!"

I clasped my hands together tightly as Ser Ilyn came forward, unsheathing a dagger with one hand and taking out a pair of pincers with the other. Marillion grunted loudly and struggled against the guards while the King's Justice stepped over to a brazier to prepare his implements.

"Your Grace, _please_! I beg you, I'll never sing again!"

"I'm done for the day," Joffrey stood up from the throne as Marillion continued to holler.

The king took off his crown, designed to look like it was made of antlers, as per his dubious father's sigil. He handed it to Sandor, who stood beside him in his new golden armor.

"I'll leave the rest of the matters to you, mother," Joffrey said to Cersei, who was in her own chair on the dais.

"YOUR GRACE, _PLEASE_!" Marillion shouted hopelessly as the king casually strolled down the steps and away from the Iron Throne.

He was followed by Sandor and Meryn Trant as he walked between the pleading troubadour and Ser Ilyn at the brazier. They came up the stairs that led to the pillar whereby Sansa stood and Joffrey approached his bride-to-be.

"You look quite nice," Joffrey said, despite the grisly scene behind him.

"Thank you, my lord," Sansa said in a wavering voice.

" _Your Grace_ ," he corrected. "I'm king now."

"NOOO-H-H-HO-HO-HO-HO-HO!"

I could tell that Sansa had looked over Joffrey's shoulder. Her long neck tightened as Ser Ilyn approached and Marillion used the last of his voice. I was eager to watch the interaction between the young lady and the king so as to ignore what was happening below.

"Walk with me," Joffrey continued on his way past her, the musician's voice now horrifyingly garbled behind him. "I want to show you something."

I grimaced as I heard the sound of the King's Justice's dagger cutting off Marillion's tongue. I tried to focus on Sansa, who hadn't yet moved from her spot. I watched as Sandor came to stand before her, staring intensely at her.

"Do as you're bid, child," he gestured towards Joffrey's retreating figure.

Sansa looked at him with wide eyes, no doubt still afraid of the man she knew as the Hound. She turned on her heel and followed after Joffrey.

Sandor hazarded the subtlest glance my way and I nodded my head the tiniest bit before he continued up the stairs, Ser Meryn Trant at his elbow.

"…Suppose we should check on ol' Sterl, shouldn't we?" Elras said, nudging me in the ribs.

"Ah, let the man rest," Vernyn grinned. "You saw how much he was drinking last night."

I gulped.

"Are you coming, Fallon?" Ruban asked.

"Er, no, I can't," I lied, not wanting to be anywhere near the drummer. "I just remembered, Princess Myrcella wanted me to sing for her. 'Flowers of Spring'."

"We have no requests at the moment," Ruban furrowed his brow.

"She didn't formally request it," I shrugged. "We crossed paths earlier this morning and she asked me to come sing for her after court."

He narrowed his eyes at me, but he didn't press the matter, fortunately. "Then I guess you should hurry off."

I bobbed my head and whipped around, picking up my skirts. I could tell their eyes were on my exposed back, but that was the least of my worries. I soon disappeared into a corridor and took a deep breath.

I couldn't get Marillion's screams out of my head as I meandered through the castle. I remembered Sandor's words about keeping a clean nose. I could only imagine that Cersei was waiting for an excuse to do something like this to me and I vowed not to give her one.

Having no idea how long I was wandering, my heart skipped a beat when a door I was three paces away from started to open. I hoped it wasn't a member of my troupe. Or worse, a member of the Lannister family and their army. But when I finally saw who was storming through, I breathed a sigh of relief.

There was Sansa, a kerchief balled up in her fist. She halted when she saw me staring at her. I noticed there was a fresh cut in her lip, dressed with drying blood. She gulped before me, her red, puffy eyes searching mine. New tears fell down her pale cheeks as her face crumpled. Then she fell to her knees and wept.

Without a moment's hesitation, I knelt down and held her close to me. I rocked her shaking body gently, letting her tears soak the front of my dress.

"Shh, little lady," I murmured. "You're alright. I'm here. You're alright."

After spending so much of my life taking care of her younger sister, I never would have expected to find myself comforting Sansa Stark. I had known her since she was a babe. I had watched her grow. I had never been the fondest of her and she had never been fond of me. I had mirthfully listened to stories of Arya sewing sheep shit into her mattress. I had always thought of her as a prissy spoiled brat.

But now in this moment, I saw her for what she truly was. She was a young girl discovering just how shitty this world really was. She was finally learning that princes and kings and castles and knights in shining armor were not all what the songs and stories had led her to believe. She was a lone wolf surrounded by a vicious pack of lions. She had lost her family. She had seen her father beheaded before her, ordered by the boy she thought she loved. She had no one.

No one but me.


	22. Two Birds

**I'm so sorry for the impromptu hiatus! I had major writer's block about this part of the story and really had to power through this chapter. Thank you all for your continuing support.**

* * *

 **"Here, child," I** murmured, handing Sansa a cup of water.

"Thank you," she whispered. Her puffy eyes were focused on her knees as she sat in her fancy chamber.

I sat across the small table from her, sipping from my own cup. The silence between us was palpable. I didn't know what to say, as I rarely spoke more than a sentence at a time to the elder Stark daughter. Gods, when I saw her in court it felt like I was seeing her for the first time in a century.

Sansa sat in her chair, holding the cup in her trembling hands. I could hardly see her face, as her head was angled down, but I could tell she was crying. I had seen her cry many times before, but this was different. She wasn't being terrorized by her wild sister this time. Judging by the cut in her lip, by the way she fell before me and let me hold her in my arms, something much worse was happening to her.

"I can leave, my lady, if you'd like to be alone," I offered, twiddling my thumbs.

When she said nothing, I gulped the rest of my water down and got to my feet. I bowed my head and started walking.

"Don't leave."

I stopped in my tracks and turned to look at Sansa. She had lifted her head and stared up at me, desperation in her glassy eyes.

"Please," she added.

"Of course not," I gave her a bitter smile.

Sansa gulped and closed her eyes tightly for a moment.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" I asked her. "I could sing you a song. I don't have my lute with me, but—"

"No," she shook her head. "No songs."

I nodded, my lips pressed tightly together. "There's not much else I'm good at," I shrugged. "Other than braiding hair."

Sansa's eyes filled with more tears and I stepped over to her side. I placed an awkward hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. Sansa put her face in her hands and her body shook as she wept.

"You c-can't braid m-my hair," she choked out, her words muffled. "I-I don't live in the North anymore."

"I see," I whispered.

"I am l-loyal to my beloved Joffrey," Sansa looked up, wiping her tears.

She said it as if she were trying to convince herself. But I could see exactly what she was doing. Sansa was assimilating to her new life in King's Landing to keep herself as safe as possible. It was as if she had her own Sandor Clegane telling her to say whatever the royal family wanted her to say. Seven hells, it could have been Sandor himself; I wouldn't have put it past him.

"I have an idea, little lady," I started, despite it feeling strange to say that phrase to anyone other than Arya. "What say we dry off those tears…" I stroked at her angular cheek, "…and then take a stroll through the godswood, hmm?"

"Why?" she asked.

"To bring you peace. And to honor your father."

* * *

The strong scent of Blackwater Rush was in the air as Sansa and I ambled through the Red Keep's attempt at a godswood. The religious space was there for appearances, mostly, having not a single weirwood tree in its midst. But it seemed to be working in Sansa's favor. She had not shed a tear since entering the area.

I looked at the young lady beside me, so tall and grown up. I couldn't help but think of how she reminded me of Catelyn when I had first met her as a child. I remembered thinking how beautiful the Tully woman was, with her dark auburn hair and her big blue eyes.

Sansa's hands were clasped together in front of her, her head hanging down low. She could see enough to turn corners and stay inside the path, rather than walk into the surrounding bushes. The skirts of her mauve gown swished with every step she took, lightly touching the thinner seafoam green color of my own dress.

 _Snap!_

My head whipped around to the noise behind me. Sansa stopped as well, turning slowly. My eyes scanned the foliage, searching for the disturbance. I could feel my heart beating faster than normal as my mind started racing.

"What is it?" Sansa asked quietly.

I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was following us—more importantly, following _Sansa_. I was hit with the urge to protect the girl, for she had gone through more than enough. I had no weapons to fight with, but I would do whatever I could to keep whoever was watching us away from her.

"G'wan," I touched Sansa's shoulder, not taking my eyes from the path. I could sense her still beside me. " _Go_."

Sansa hesitated for half a moment, but then picked up her skirts and turned, walking away at a brisk pace. It wasn't long before I could no longer hear her dainty footfalls. And then there was silence in the godswood. I began to wonder if I had perhaps overreacted. I glanced around the shrubbery once more before turning around myself.

I had only taken five steps when I heard yet another _snap!_ My heart was now pounding, but I managed to stay brave.

"Who's there?" I asked, turning around. "Show yourself."

A body came out from behind a tree and I heaved a great sigh. There was Sterlan, sickly-looking and pale, save for the angry bruise that colored over his right eye. He held his hands up, as if in surrender.

"You need…to stop," I told him slowly, rubbing at my forehead.

"Please," he fell to his knees weakly, having not quite recovered from the night before. "I need to know."

"Need to know what?" I felt my patience depleting.

"Why? Why do you love the Hound? Why do you love _him_ and not me?"

"He will kill you if he finds out you've been following me," I warned, ignoring the questions. "Do you understand that?"

"I only wish to know the truth. And then I'll leave you be. Forever," Sterlan pleaded.

I gulped. "Sandor is, at his core, a _good man_ ," I said carefully. "And that's not to say that you are not a good man or do not deserve love. Though your…recent behavior has been less than desirable, I truly believe that you will find someone who can love you in the way that I cannot."

"But why _him_?" Sterlan asked disdainfully.

"I am drawn to him, just as you seem to be drawn to me," I said. "He has proven time and time again that there is more than meets the eye when it comes to him. He has cared for me in a way no one has. He is so deserving of love, yet everyone treats him like scum. Someone needs to love him. And I am that person."

Sterlan stared up at me for a few seconds, then got to his feet.

"Now, _please_ , leave. Drink some water, get some rest, and move on from this," I advised.

With a stilted nod, he muttered, "In another life, Fallon," and turned away.

* * *

"Who was that man?"

"Hmm?" I furrowed my brow, placing my knife and fork on my plate.

"The man who was following us in the godswood?" Sansa elaborated.

My eyes snapped over to the girl across the small table from me. "You saw him?"

Sansa nodded silently, pushing her own half-eaten plate away from her. I started to wonder that she had perhaps overheard our conversation.

"His name is Sterlan. He's a member of my troupe," I told her.

"What did he want from you?" she questioned.

"He, erm, he wanted answers," I said, feeling a bit relieved that she heard nothing. I feared that Cersei would have found a way to drag the truth out of the girl if she needed to.

"Answers for what?" Sansa pressed.

"Why I don't love him."

"Does he love you?"

"Not for much longer, I hope."

I stood up and grabbed both of our plates, hoping the conversation would die. Sansa's eyes followed mine with every motion I made as I went to put the plates and silverware outside of her door. When I came back, the girl was still at her table.

"Fallon?" she warbled.

"Yes, child?" I bowed my head.

"I'm sorry," she replied in a hoarse whisper, her eyes shining.

"What for?" I stepped over and knelt before her.

"Y-You were always so kind to me back h-home," she began. "Even though I was so awful to you."

"You were not awful to m—"

"Yes, I was," she interrupted tearfully. "Do you remember when S-Septa Mordane patched together a beautiful quilt for mother?"

I gulped, the long-forgotten memory popping into my head.

"Septa had shown it to me before she was to present it to mother and I had gone back to look at it. I sat before a fire with it and a spark flew out. The quilt caught fire and I tried to find something to put it out with. There was a c-cup with wine sitting on a table. I poured it all over the quilt. It was ruined. And I was afraid to get in trouble."

"Sansa, you were a _child_ ," I grabbed her hands to squeeze them. "You shouldn't feel guilty about what happened to me."

"I shouldn't have told her that _you_ had spilled wine on it because you were jealous, either," Sansa's lips quivered and tears poured from her eyes. "I watched as you were caned for something _I_ did."

"I haven't thought about this in a very long time," I told her honestly. "Please, Sansa, put this out of your mind like I did. Dwelling on the past is not going to make you feel any better, I can assure you."

"I'm so sorry," Sansa whispered.

"There's no need to be. All is forgiven," I smiled at her and then got to my feet. "I imagine you're very tired. I'll let you sleep."

"Wait," she called out before I could turn to leave the chamber for good.

"Yes, my lady?"

"Will…will you braid my hair?" she asked.

Another bitter smile began to spread across my face. "Of course, sweet girl. It would be my pleasure."

Noticing a comb on the table by her bed, I grabbed it and stood behind her chair. I untwisted her hair from atop her head and combed out her long auburn hair. The wavy hair expanded outwards as I ran the comb through, but I eventually tamed it and braided two strands at the very top of her scalp.

If one had asked me a month ago if I could have ever imagined myself spending the better part of a day comforting Sansa Stark, I would have said they were mad. But there I was, making sure to braid her hair just as her mother used to, and then wishing her sweet dreams before stepping out of her chamber.

"Girl."

I felt my breath hitch when I turned to walk down the corridor and saw Sandor standing outside of the door.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him quietly.

"Making sure the little bird doesn't try to escape her cage," he sighed, glancing at the door.

"She's exhausted," I told him. "Poor girl's gone straight to bed."

"King's orders."

"Mm, well. I wouldn't fret," I bounced my eyebrows. "She's, er, _loyal to her beloved Joffrey_. She won't try to escape."

Sandor looked at me, nodding slightly.

"I'll be here most of the night," he muttered.

"Are you telling me not to wait up for you?" I whispered.

"Aye, songbird," he said, looking over his shoulder to check if anyone was nearby. Then he took my hand in his. "King's nameday is coming up soon. I'm sure yer voice will need resting. Yeh've seen what he does to singers he doesn't like."

I shivered, remembering what had happened to Marillion earlier that very day.

"Thank you for the advice," I said, clasping my other hand over his. Up on my toes, I gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Good night, Sandor."

He nodded once more, watching me as I removed my hands from his and stepped away from Sansa's chamber. I glanced over my shoulder once more before turning a corner and smiled at him. It was a shame that he had to guard the young wolf's door all night, rather than protecting me from 'nighttime intruders.'

But if it had to be anyone standing outside of Sansa's room, I was thankful it was him.

* * *

 **I'm so sorry this part is kinda short and I'm really sorry there wasn't a whole lot of our boy, haha (I'm even more sorry for apologizing so much, holy shit)**

 **But I, for one, am really glad that Fallon and Sansa are finally bonding in the wake of this Ned Stark tragedy.**


	23. The Red Comet

**I clutched at** the neck of my lute, watching as Sandor swung his mace down, hitting his adversary's. I could faintly hear him yelling through the jowls of his helm as he bashed the smaller man's shield with his very own. It wasn't a fair fight at all, what with Sandor towering over his opponent. But it was King Joffrey's nameday celebration—he wanted blood.

And blood he got.

After a few more swings of Sandor's mace, he had managed to disarm the sitting duck and knock him off of the battlements they were fighting on. The smaller man fell onto the courtyard below, as everyone in attendance cheered. I craned my neck to venture a glance down to see his lifeless body, blood trickling from under his helm.

"Well struck," commented the young king from under the fancy red and gold tent. He had stood up and looked over the edge of the wall opposite the one Sandor stood on. "Well struck, dog!" he said louder, making sure his guard heard.

Unbothered, Sandor dropped his spiky mace and took off his helm, placing it under his arm. He stood there, tall and powerful, in his dark armor. I hadn't seen him don the golden armor in some time, but he was still very much a part of Joffrey's Kingsguard.

I beamed at him, knowing he likely couldn't see me at all. And though the violence was senseless, I couldn't help but feel proud of Sandor for winning.

"Did you like that?" Joffrey turned to look at Sansa, who sat underneath the tent, not far from where I stood with my troupe.

"It was well struck, Your Grace," she said hollowly.

"I already said it was well struck," Joffrey pointed out.

Beside me in the sun, Meryn Trant glanced over, anticipating whatever the king was going to do. I had heard that Joffrey had used the man as a surrogate to strike the young wolf across the face on at least one occasion, and I feared the guard was more than willing to do it again.

"Yes, Your Grace," Sansa finally said, looking out at the horizon.

King Joffrey glared at her under his antlered crown for a moment longer and then looked down at the courtyard. I could hear the sound of metal dragging on the stone floor as I assumed Sandor's adversary was dragged off. Meanwhile, Sandor himself had disappeared from the side of the wall he had been standing on.

"Who's next?" Joffrey asked.

"Lothor Brune, freerider in the service of Lord Baelish!" announced the tourney herald, standing where Sandor had just been. He held out his hand to brandish the freerider, who stepped over, mace in hand, and bowed to the king. "Ser Dontos the Red of House Hollard!"

But Ser Dontos didn't show. Not yet, anyway.

"SER DONTOS THE RED OF HOUSE HOLLARD!" the herald shouted louder.

"Here I am!" called out a man's voice as his heavy footfalls clomped down a set of stairs near where we stood. "Here I am!"

"Fuckin' idiot," Elras muttered in my ear as we watched the heavyset man make his way, the end of his weapon hitting each step he descended.

Dontos dropped his helm as he half-ran to stand before the king and went to pick it up. "Sorry, Your Grace," he said, putting on his sweaty head backwards at first. "My deepest apologies," he said, attempting to correct his helm placement.

"Are you drunk?" Joffrey asked.

"No," Dontos responded, holding his helm against his striped breastplate. "Uh, no. No, Your Grace. Uh, I had t-two cups of wine."

" _Two_ cups? That's not much at all," Joffrey said in what seemed like a friendly tone. Then he gestured to the tray behind where he stood which had a few cups of wine and a pitcher on it. "Please, have another cup."

"Are you sure, Your Grace?" Dontos asked.

" _Yes_ , to celebrate my nameday," Joffrey said just as Sandor came up on the other side of the tent, near where Tommen and Myrcella sat. "Have two. Have as much as you like."

"I would be honored, Your Grace," Dontos bowed.

My grip tightened on the neck of my lute. Ser Dontos really _was_ a fuckin' idiot if he thought this was going to end well. And when Joffrey looked at the guard standing between him and us, I knew something awful was about to occur.

"Ser Meryn, help Ser Dontos celebrate my nameday," Joffrey ordered in his charming tone. "See that he drinks his fill."

Dontos smirked, clearly thinking that this was his lucky day, until Trant stalked over to him, a couple other guards following. They grabbed the knight and dragged him off towards one of the many casks of wine as many of the attendees of the celebration gasped.

Bringing Dontos to his knees, one of the guards grabbed a cask and lifted it up, while Trant grabbed a horn and shoved it in Dontos' mouth to use as a funnel. The knight made a series of horrible gurgling noises as the wine poured into his mouth.

"You _can't_ ," Sansa cried.

I whipped my head around to see her staring at the knight with a horrified expression. Joffrey, who had sat back in his own chair to enjoy the show, glared at her in shock.

"What did you say?" he asked in a chilling, quiet voice.

Sandor turned his head to pay more attention to the situation under the tent. I caught his eye for a brief moment and then looked back at the eldest Stark girl.

Surprised by her own actions, Sansa had turned her head and looked at Joffrey. I found myself praying she would find a way to recover.

"Did you say I can't?" Joffrey continued, clearly not used to people telling him no.

"I only meant…" she started, "it would be bad luck to kill a man on your nameday."

"What kind of stupid _peasant_ 's superstition…" Joffrey trailed off, looking back at Ser Dontos.

"The girl is right," Sandor piped up. I hoped his words would help. "What a man sows on his nameday, he reaps all year."

Joffrey seemed to consider his words and I felt the lump in my throat shrinking in size. The king sat back in his chair and sighed, gesturing to his men.

"Take him away," he ordered. "I'll have him killed tomorrow, the fool."

The guard holding the cask of wine pulled it away and Trant took the horn out of his mouth. Dontos fell forward onto his hands and knees, spitting out the wine onto the floor. The crowd murmured around him and I started to chew on my bottom lip.

"He is—a fool. You're so clever to see it. He'll make a much better fool than a knight. He doesn't deserve the mercy of a quick death," Sansa turned to look at the smirking king.

Joffrey looked as though he had just gotten an idea. "Did you hear my lady, Ser Dontos?" he called out as the man himself struggled to his feet. "From this day," Joffrey got up from his seat, "you'll be my new fool."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Dontos bowed half-heartedly. "And you, my lady, thank you."

"Beloved nephew," shouted out a familiar voice as the guards dragged Dontos away.

I looked over to the other side of the tent, watching as Lord Tyrion strode over. The dwarf looked much different than the last time I saw him. Rather than ornate clothing and furs, he was wearing armor that had been built specifically for him. Behind him was a roguishly handsome man who bore no colors to distinguish which house he fought for—a sellsword, likely—and what looked like a series of hill tribesmen from the Vale.

Tyrion was met with quiet murmurs and strange looks by most, but I couldn't help the smile that crept onto my face. He had shown me kindness in the brief time I had known him, unlike his older sister, and I was happy to see that he was alive and well.

"We looked for you on the battlefield," Tyrion said to the king, referring to a battle I had heard whispers about from the other servants in the Red Keep.

Apparently, Robb Stark was leading an army south and had met the Lannisters in the Riverlands, where they had grossly exaggerated how many men they were sending to fight. While nearly the entire Lannister army was busy cutting down the small fraction of the Stark army, Robb and Catelyn, who was with him, had captured Jaime Lannister and was currently holding him hostage.

"You were nowhere to be found," Tyrion finished, coming under the tent to pour himself a cup of wine.

"I've…been here, ruling the kingdoms," Joffrey said defensively.

"What a _fine_ job you've done," Tyrion condescended him, then turned to Myrcella. "Look at you," he breathed, stepping over to kiss his niece's cheek. "More beautiful than ever. And you!" he turned to young Tommen. "You…You're going to be bigger than _the Hound_ , but much better-looking."

I pursed my lips, watching Tyrion throw Sandor a cheeky smirk and snickering at him. There was _one_ thing I didn't quite like about Lord Tyrion…

"This one doesn't like me," he said in a straight voice, pointing at the ever stoic Sandor before taking a sip of his wine.

"Can't imagine why," deadpanned the sellsword.

"We heard you were dead," Joffrey said to his uncle.

"I'm glad you're not dead," Myrcella added.

Tyrion cocked his head and slowly wandered across the tent. "Me too, dear. Death is so boring, especially with so much excitement in the world." He stopped near Sansa, a grim look on his face. "My lady, I'm sorry for your loss."

Before she could even think to respond, Joffrey interrupted.

"Her _loss_?" he spat. "Her father was a confessed traitor."

"But still her father. Surely having so recently lost your own beloved father you can _sympathize_ ," Tyion hissed out the last word.

Joffrey paused a moment and then rested his elbow on the back of his chair. He stared at Sansa expectantly, daring her to say anything contrary.

"My father was a traitor," she said in a small voice. "My mother and brother are traitors too. I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey."

Tyrion looked at her knowingly. "Of course you are," he replied.

Sansa glanced over at me briefly and I offered her a tiny smile. Suddenly Tyrion's eyes fell on me. His brow furrowed for half a second, then his mouth cracked into a wide grin and he raised his cup. I was honestly surprised that such an important man as he remembered me, after only knowing me for such a short time.

"Fallon. A sight for the sorest of eyes," Tyrion said cheerfully. "I almost didn't recognize you with your new hair." Ignoring the pained look in my eyes, he glanced at the lute in my arms. "I'm overjoyed to see you are still making music as _beautiful_ as your face."

"You're too kind, my lord," I mustered a grin, curtsying a bit.

I could feel Sandor's eyes on me for a moment. Joffrey also looked at me, as if seeing me for the first time.

"And _you_ are too lovely," Tyrion bowed his head to me one more time. He finished off the rest of his wine and turned back to the king. "Well, enjoy your nameday, Your Grace. Wish I could stay and celebrate, but there is work to be done," he said, walking out the back of the tent, his entourage of men following him into the castle.

"What work?" Joffrey asked, turning around to watch. "Why are you here?"

But Tyrion never answered.

* * *

"'ow the fuck d'yeh know the Halfman?" Elras asked, coming to stand by me.

I glanced over at him from where I sat on the windowsill. We were all in the chamber we normally practiced in, taking a moment to relax. Ruban was tuning his lyre off in the corner, while Vernyn and Sterlan played a game of dice. The latter had not made eye contact with me since our conversation in the godswood.

"I met _Lord Tyrion_ back home," I explained to Elras, leaning my back against the window frame. "He, erm, he saw me performing at King Robert's feast and sought me out a couple days later. He's the reason I was allowed to join you here."

"An' where's 'ome for you, again?" Elras came to sit on the other side of the windowsill, pushing my feet over so he would have enough room.

I gulped, thinking about the rundown house I had been born in, the one in Flea Bottom, attached to the long-forgotten tavern. I wondered if anyone had discovered my father's body, or if the stench of decay would even be noticed in that shithole slum.

"My home is in the North," I told him decidedly, hugging my knees to my chest.

"Right, right," Elras nodded. "That's what earned yeh that trip to the barber, innit?"

Removing one hand from my knees, I ran my fingers through my hair. It had grown a bit since Meryn Trant had cut it well over a month ago. A few of the longer strands were starting to touch my shoulders, while the shorter strands hung halfway down my neck. Every once in a while, I would try to braid it to get it out of my face, but the length was not forgiving.

The hair was a constant reminder of the shitty events of my life. What Cersei thought was a punishment for my "former" allegiance to the North had certainly worked. She needn't have told Trant to flog me at all. I'm not entirely sure Cersei knew the significance of cutting my hair; I couldn't have imagined there was much for Lord Varys to whisper about me. She probably thought of it as an attack on my femininity, or what she might have perceived as my vanity. I didn't have a vain bone in my body, even before she had me shorn and whipped.

"Mm," I nodded, glancing out the window and noticing something red shoot across the blue sky. "Is that a comet?"

"Lannister red, that is," Elras mused. "They'll rule all Seven Kingdoms before long."

"Are you sure?" I narrowed my eyes at the comet, hoping he was wrong.

Elras smirked at me. "Well, I've 'eard another interpretation of red comets, love. But yeh didn't 'ear it from me."

"Of course not," I gave him a smile.

"Dragons," he murmured, covering the side of his mouth.

" _Dragons_?" I echoed in a harsh whisper. "They died out _ages_ ago."

"Tha's what I said, dearie," Elras sighed. "But me love, Sadie, says the stars don't fall for men. Somewhere out there, there's a dragon been born."

* * *

"Do you believe in dragons?" I asked, hitching up my skirts and climbing into Sandor's lap.

"The fuck you asking me about dragons for?" he countered.

I looked down at the neck of his shirt, which he had untied long before he came into my chamber that night. I placed both of my hands on his chest and leaned forward to kiss the tip of his nose.

"I hear about things from time to time. You're not the only person I talk to, you know," I smirked.

"Aye? And what kind of things are yeh hearing about?" he humored me, one of his hands clasping onto my thigh.

"Well, let's see," I tapped my lips with a fingertip. "A scullery maid told me Lord Tyrion is serving as Hand of the King while Lord Tywin is at war," I kissed one of Sandor's cheeks. "I overheard a squire saying that Robb Stark is now going by King in the North," I kissed his other cheek, trying to hide my smile at that last one. "And I've heard that the red comet in the sky means dragons have come back."

Sandor let me kiss his lips passionately for a moment before pulling away. "And who told you that shite?"

"Alas, I'm sworn to secrecy on that front," I gave him a sheepish grin.

"Well, whoever said that you is a dumb cunt," Sandor grumbled.

I snickered and looked away from his brown eyes. I thought of Elras. Daft, unrefined Elras. He truly was my favorite of the musicians in my troupe. But that didn't make him the most reliable source of information. Who knew what he was and wasn't making up? As far as I was concerned, no one had yet met his beloved Sadie, who allegedly worked in the kitchens. Who knew if she even existed?

"A dragon or two would certainly make this world a lot more interesting, don't you think?" I smirked, wrapping my arms around Sandor's neck.

Sandor heaved a great sigh, but didn't respond either way. Then I felt a pang in my heart. I looked at the scars on his face and remembered the story I had heard Littlefinger tell Sansa at the Tournament of the Hand.

Of course he wouldn't be interested in dragons—he likely hated fire after what his brother did to him. I wanted to apologize to him, but he didn't know that I knew. I wanted him to tell me when he was ready to tell me.

"Erm, have you heard anything about Arya yet?" I asked, changing the subject.

Sandor squeezed the thigh of mine he was holding. "Not a word."

I nodded, trying to suppress the smile that wanted to spread across my face. I liked to think that she was out of harm's way, finding her way back home.

"If the girl has any brains, she'll be far away from King's Landing by now," Sandor told me.

"She's a smart girl," I muttered, leaning in to kiss him again. "I've spent more than enough time with her to know that."


	24. Shit City

**"You're here to** answer for your brother's latest treasons," King Joffrey barked.

There was a knot in my throat the size of Dorne. Joffrey was standing in front of the Iron Throne and aiming his crossbow down at Sansa as she knelt before him on the floor. The only comforting part of the situation was Sandor's presence. He stood a few steps down from the king in his dark armor and white Kingsguard cloak with two other guards on either side of him.

"Your Grace, whatever my traitor brother has done, I had no part. _You_ know that. I beg you, _please_ —"

"Ser Lancel, tell her of this outrage," Joffrey ordered his older cousin, interrupting the tearful girl.

"Using some vile sorcery, your brother fell on Stafford Lannister with an army of wolves," Lancel stepped forward from the murmuring lords and ladies at court. "Thousands of good men were butchered. After the slaughter, the Northmen _feasted_ on the flesh of the slain."

"Utter horseshit," I breathed out, making Elras chuckle beside me from where we stood by the pillar.

"Don't say anything too loud, _Northerner_ ," he nudged me, glancing around the area to see if someone heard me.

"Killing you _would_ send your brother a message…" Joffrey considered.

I could hear Sansa weeping to herself when the room went quiet.

"But my mother _insists_ on keeping you alive," Joffrey sighed and lowered the crossbow. "Stand," he ordered Sansa as he set his weapon down. "So, we'll have to send your brother a message some other way," Joffrey took a seat on the throne. "Meryn."

The knot in my throat felt a million times bigger as Trant stepped down from the stairs to meet Sansa. I clasped my hands together, hoping for the best, but expecting the worst.

"Leave her face," Joffrey added. "I like her pretty."

Then Meryn suddenly grabbed her and hit her in the stomach as hard as he could. I felt my eyes welling up with tears at the sound of her gasp. As she tried to recover, he unsheathed his sword and hit the back of her legs with the flat of it, dropping her to her knees with a loud groan.

"Meryn, my lady is overdressed," Joffrey stood up to get a better view. "Unburden her."

It pained me to watch as Trant came up behind her and grabbed the back of her dress, tearing it open, just as he had done to me under the queen regent's orders during the purge. Sobbing, Sansa tried to hold the front of her torn dress up against her chest, just as I had done.

"If you want Robb Stark to hear us, we're going to have to speak _louder_!" Joffrey shouted the last word.

Meryn Trant stepped in front of the girl, hoisting his sword up high to hit her with it again, until he was interrupted with a voice from the other end of the hall.

"What is the meaning of this?" Tyrion called out.

The crowd of lords and ladies split apart and the lord stepped in with his sellsword-turned-Commander of the City Watch, Bronn. Tyrion strode across the court, glaring at Meryn Trant, who was sheathing his sword.

"What kind of _knight_ beats a helpless girl?" Tyrion admonished him.

"The kind who serves his king, _Imp_ ," Trant spat back.

"Careful, now," Bronn piped up. "We don't want to get blood all over your pretty white cloak."

"Someone get the girl something to cover herself with," Tyrion ordered before coming to the bottom steps up to the throne. "She is to be your queen. Have you no regard for her honor?" he asked Joffrey.

My heart felt warm as I watched Sandor come down from where he stood, ripping his own white cloak from his shoulders and draping it over the still kneeling Sansa.

"I'm punishing her," Joffrey defended himself.

"For what crimes?" Tyrion questioned. "She did not fight her brother's battle, you half-wit!"

Sandor returned to his post on the steps. I watched as Sansa held the cloak to her as tightly as she could.

"You can't talk to me like that! The king can do as he likes!" Joffrey shouted petulantly before returning to the Iron Throne.

"The Mad King did as he liked," Tyrion said, slowly ascending the stairs. "Has your Uncle Jaime ever told you what happened to him?"

"No one threatens His Grace in the presence of the Kingsguard!" growled Trant.

"I'm not threatening the king, Ser, I am educating my nephew," Tyrion responded in an annoyed tone. "Bronn, the next time Ser Meryn speaks, kill him."

Bronn and Trant exchanged glances. I couldn't see the latter's face, but I'm sure he wasn't very happy.

" _That_ was a threat," Tyrion continued. "See the difference?"

Tyrion turned around and came over to Sansa. He held out his hand to the girl and she stared at him before taking it and letting him help her to her feet. The crowd was murmuring again, but I was happy to see that her torment had ended, if only just for now.

Still clutching Sandor's cloak to her body, Sansa turned away from the dais and let Tyrion escort her out of the hall.

* * *

 _"Summer is over, girl."_

 _"And yet I'm still sweating," Fallon replied, wading in the harbor once more, this time only ankle-deep._

 _"I don't need to tell yeh_ winter is coming _," Sandor Clegane said, a playful tinge to his voice._

 _"I was born in the midst of a winter in King's Landing," Fallon said, turning around to look at him where he stood on the edge of the rocky beach. "I can handle it."_

 _Sandor felt the corner of his lips curl into a smirk, not regretting his risky choice to step down and engage her._

 _He had been given leave from following the king for the moment and had passed by the harbor on the way to the tavern for a mid-day drink. Though he would have gone to his grave denying it, he had deliberately chosen to take that path on the off-chance that Fallon was contemplating things yet again in the shallow waters. And as he got closer, he saw a small woman with shaggy, dark brown hair blowing softly in the wind…_

 _"Besides, I survived a winter with the Starks," she shrugged her shoulders. "Speaking of which, do you like my new dress? The queen regent had it brought to my chamber while I was away at court."_

 _Fallon un-bunched most of her skirts, holding out the gray material for him to see. She feigned a smile and then turned around slowly so he could see the rest of it._

 _"Leaves my back bare, just like the other one," she said over her shoulder._

 _Sandor gazed at the scars across her otherwise soft skin. They had begun to fade in color, but he knew they wouldn't leave for some time, if ever. He felt a slight bit of pressure on his chest, the memory of her agonized screams in Cersei's quarters ringing in his ears._

 _"Do you know why?" Fallon asked, clutching her skirts back at her knees and taking a half-step deeper into the water. "Do you know why the queen has had these dresses made for me?"_

 _"Why?" he narrowed his eyes at her as she turned to face him once more._

 _"So people will stare as I walk past. And they will know what happens to those who have supported traitors," Fallon explained. Her voice was sour, as if she was quoting the queen's words. "Now there'll be no question which traitors I supported with this Stark gray dress."_

 _Sandor stared at her, grinding his jaw in anger._

 _Fallon chuckled in spite of herself. "I'll wear it just as I wear these scars—with honor."_

 _He couldn't help but feel proud of her. No, she wasn't physically adept. But she was strong. She was brave. And she was his._

 _"Good," Sandor finally said._

 _A bitter smile pulled the corners of her lips upward._

 _"I, er, saw you give Sansa your cloak at court today. That was very nice of you to do," Fallon spoke softly._

 _"Didn't do it to be nice," Sandor looked to the side._

 _"Of course you didn't," Fallon murmured, as if she knew for a fact that he was being gruff for the sake of being gruff. "For what it's worth, you showed her caring and compassion."_

 _"I was acting on the Imp's orders," he countered._

 _"She needs someone to care for her," Fallon stepped forward and put her hand on his arm. "I can only do so much. I wield no power, especially not here, you know that."_

 _Sandor sighed, knowing he had already shown care for the girl. He remembered the moment Joffrey had forced the little bird to look at her father's head on a spike._

 _The king had ordered Trant to strike her across the face after she had insulted him. Sandor noticed the girl looking at the drop from the bridge she and the king had been standing on. He watched as she took a few steps forward to Joffrey, who had his back turned. Sandor grabbed her before she did anything stupid, dabbing at the blood on her lip with his kerchief._

 _He had given her almost the same advice he gave Fallon before the queen interrogated her during the Stark purge. "_ Save yourself some pain, girl. Give him what he wants. _" He let the girl keep the kerchief, knowing she would need it again in the future._

 _"Promise me you'll keep her as safe from harm as you possibly can, Sandor," Fallon said. "Please."_

 _Sensing the urgency in her words, Sandor knew that his instincts to protect the young Stark girl were correct, and he nodded. "Aye, I will."_

* * *

I ran my comb through my wet hair, fresh from the baths under the castle. I couldn't stop thinking of all the times I had done this for Arya. She could hardly ever sit still with no fidgeting, or no turning around to grin at me as she told me how she terrorized Sansa by sewing sheep shit into her mattress. I would always smile and braid her hair before tucking her into bed.

My eyes glistened back at me as I thought of my days at Winterfell. Things had been so simple there, so lovely, so wonderful.

I was far away from my father. Ned Stark had his head intact, beloved by all who knew him. Little Rickon would follow his brothers around, his giggles echoing in the corridors. My worst fear was that Septa Mordane or Catelyn would overhear my charge speaking profanely with my consent, or perhaps that Theon Greyjoy would try to lock me in a room with him.

But here I was in King's Landing. Arya was nowhere to be found. Sansa was held captive for the king to torture. Ned had been executed months ago. Robb was fighting a war with Catelyn at his side. Bran was ruling in Winterfell in his eldest brother's stead. Jon Snow, kind and solemn, was at the Wall.

I had been tortured myself down here. My hair cut, my back torn open. I was forced to parade my scars around while singing songs under the constant threat of having my tongue cut out _at best_.

I had very few friends in this shit city. I recognized that Sansa and I were only clinging to each other because we were the last vestiges of our old lives, though she had not needed my attention recently, as she was provided with a new handmaiden. Had Joffrey not shown her his true self, she likely would never have spoken another word to me.

And then there was Thoros of Myr. He had been an island of light in a sea of darkness and misery. He had even helped me to realize my true feelings for the man most knew as the Hound. Thoros had been so kind to me in a particular time of despair, plying me with rum and a mystical candle. Then he joined Lord Beric Dondarrion to protect the Riverlands from the Mountain at Ned Stark's behest.

Other than Thoros, the only good thing that had happened to me in King's Landing was Sandor Clegane. Surly and curmudgeonly as he was, I knew he loved me. And I loved him.

Having finally finished combing through my damp hair, I took notice of how it was hanging. It had grown some in the weeks since Elras and I spoke of the red comet in the sky. The shortest part of my hair now brushed at my shoulders. Thankful that my hair grew relatively quickly, I decided to run my comb through it yet another time.

Once I had put the comb down, I heard a knock at my door. It sounded more urgent than Sandor's normal rap. My heart and mind both began racing. I was worried that someone else might have been on the other side of the door.

Gulping, I tightened the belt of my robe around my waist and stepped over to turn the doorknob. I had barely moved out of the way when Sandor barged in, much like he had done the night he came to retrieve his wineskin.

"Are you alright?" I closed the door and looked at him under my furrowed brows.

Without a word, Sandor grabbed my arm and pulled me close against his armor. He reeked of ale, which I believed was accounting for his behavior.

"What happened?" I asked, peeling my face off his brigandine.

"Wanted to make sure yeh were safe," he muttered.

I stepped back and grabbed his elbows, searching his face. He looked somewhere between angry and upset.

"Of course I am," I assured him. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Sandor sighed and looked at my wall.

"Come sit," I took one of his hands in my own and started to pull him over towards my bed. "Take off your armor. Get comfortable."

Sandor reluctantly followed along with my suggestions, slowly detaching the armor while I watched, leaving himself in his trousers, boots, and shirt. I patted the spot next to me on the edge of the bed and he took the hint.

"I know you don't like to talk very much," I said carefully, getting up on my knees beside him, "but will you tell me what's going on?"

He didn't say anything for a moment. I maneuvered myself behind him and started rubbing circles into his back over his shirt. He whipped his head over his shoulder, not expecting me to massage him. He ultimately allowed me to relieve his knots, hanging his head and then sighing once more.

"Imp sent the king a nameday present," Sandor finally said. "Two whores for the night."

"Oh?" I murmured, placing a chaste kiss on the nape of his neck.

"Asked me to see that the little shit got it," he added. "Stood outside his door, waiting for him."

I felt a lump in my throat as I anticipated where the rest of the story was going.

"King showed up, went inside. I lingered for a moment, then started walking. Wasn't long before I heard the screaming," Sandor told me. "Not the good kind, either. Bloodcurdling. Got louder and louder with every step I took."

I wrapped my arms around him, pressing my body into his back. I could feel his hands holding mine against his chest.

"'ve seen horrible shit before. Done worse," he continued, lifting his head. "But all I could think as I walked away…was what that little cunt might do to you if given the slightest reason."

"Worry not, my love," I said softly, kissing his shoulder. "He has no reason to hurt me."

"His mother doesn't bloody like you. He knows the Imp is fond of you," Sandor reminded me.

I pursed my lips, considering his words. "I won't let him hurt me."

Sandor hung his head once more, but didn't say a word.

"A wise man once told me to keep my nose clean, and I intend on honoring that," I kissed his shoulder one more time. "Joffrey will not lay a finger on me."


	25. The Riot

**"Have you heard** about Princess Myrcella?" Sansa asked me.

"I can't say I did, my lady," I answered, taking a sip from the cup of water before me.

"She's being sent away to Dorne," Sansa took another bite of her lunch. "She's to marry Prince Trystane of House Martell when she comes of age."

"Is she, now? And whose idea was this?" I cocked a brow.

As evil as Cersei was, I knew she loved her children far too much to ship them off so young. This surely couldn't have been her doing.

"The Hand's. Lord Tyrion," Sansa said.

I suddenly felt the dark eyes of the Stark child's new handmaiden upon us. Shae, her name was, had been attempting to make Sansa's bed—and not doing the neatest job, I must say—when she stopped suddenly to pay attention to our conversation.

She was a beautiful young woman with black hair and an angular face. When I had been introduced to her by her charge, I noticed that she had a thick accent I couldn't place. Though she did not offer any details, I could only assume she had originally come from Essos.

"Lord Tyrion is an intelligent man," I said. "If he thinks brokering an alliance with the Martells is a smart choice, it must be."

"You know Lord Tyrion?" Shae asked, trying to smooth out the blankets atop Sansa's bed.

"We met briefly," I nodded. "Not long enough that I would consider him a confidante, but long enough that he made an impression."

Shae eyed me, as if trying to get a read on me. I wondered why she cared so much about the Lannister, having been so new to the Red Keep.

"When is Myrcella leaving King's Landing?" I asked, turning my attention back to Sansa.

"In a few days," she said. "I'm sure you'll be asked to sing."

"Why do you think that?" I wondered.

"Why else?" Sansa shrugged, looking at me like I was foolish for asking. "She enjoys hearing you sing."

* * *

Holding my lute close to my chest, I watched as the crying princess was sent on her way. I stood with my troupe above the royal family and their guards, between members of the City Watch and lords and ladies of the court.

"May the Seven guide the princess on her journey. May the Mother give her health. May the Crone give her wisdom. May the Warrior give her courage. May the Smith grant her strength…" prayed the High Septon, holding his incense thurible up.

Glancing away from the boat that was going to carry Myrcella to the ship further out in the water, I looked at the back of Sandor's head from where he stood by King Joffrey. Then, sensing movement from the corner of my eye, I watched as Tyrion turned away from his sister on the stairs they were on and left the harbor.

Directly below me, I saw Joffrey turn to his younger brother, Tommen, who was being comforted by his septa. The boy had been sniffling, watching his sister drift away into the Blackwater.

"You sound like a little cat mewling for his mother," Joffrey sneered loud enough for me to hear him. "Princes don't cry."

"I saw _you_ cry," Sansa pointed out bravely.

"Did you say something, my lady?" Joffrey challenged.

"My little brother cried when I left Winterfell," she said.

"So?" Joffrey breathed.

"It seems a normal thing."

"Is your little brother a _prince_?"

"…No."

"Not really relevant, then, is it?" Joffrey strode off, making Sandor and another member of the Kingsguard follow him.

Some of the lords and ladies of the court decided to leave the harbor as well, following the king's lead. When Ruban headed off with the other men in our troupe, I walked with them, my lute tightly in my grasp as we entered Flea Bottom.

Though I had once lived in the slum, I couldn't help but feel uneasy around its inhabitants. They had all gathered outside of the gate that led to the part of the harbor we had said goodbye to Myrcella in. They all stared at our procession with hungry eyes. I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach and I wished that I had been standing closer to Sandor, rather than Ruban and Elras.

"Hail Joffrey!" a man's voice boomed. "Hail to the _king_!"

Another man chortled nearby. Word had clearly spread about Joffrey's dubious parentage.

"Seven blessings on you, Your Grace," another man spat down.

"Murderer! Bastard!"

"All hail the _king_!"

"He's no king, he's a bastard!"

"Please, Your Grace, we're hungry!"

The crowd erupted in more shouting and yelling. I noticed certain parts of the procession going into secret tunnels on the way, as if sensing that trouble was brewing.

"Please, Your Grace, give us some food!"

"Bread, Your Grace, please!"

Then something dark brown flew into the air about twenty paces ahead of where I was, hitting Joffrey on one side of his face. The smell of fresh shit hung in the air and I felt like I was going to vomit.

I could see that Sandor and the rest of the Kingsguard pulled out their swords, preparing for whatever came next. The crowd gasped at first, but then continued yelling.

"I want the man who threw that!" Joffrey howled. "Find the man and bring him to me!"

Someone flung themselves into the crowd ahead of Sansa and some of the other handmaidens. A member of the City Watch knocked the person down and stomped on their head.

I felt the bottom of my stomach fall out. A riot was well on its way to breaking out.

"JUST KILL THEM! KILL THEM ALL!"

A hand reached out and clawed at my arm, breaking the skin. Hissing in pain, I let go of my lute with one hand and reached out to cover my wound. Then a man grabbed onto my lute. I tried to pull it back closer to me, desperate not to lose it, but the man was too strong.

"Fallon, look out!" shouted a voice behind me.

I turned and saw Sterlan reaching out for me. He grabbed onto my other arm and pulled me against him. Then I heard a loud _CRACK!_ My leg was hit with something small, but sharp. I gaped in horror at the sight of my lute in pieces on the cobblestones. The peasant had tried to break my instrument over my head, but fortunately had missed.

I looked back at Sterlan, tears stinging in my eyes. The lute had been specially made for me under the orders of Lord Rickard Stark and his wife, Lyarra, after Lyanna had asked them. I had played it for over a decade. It was all I had to remember them by. And now it was in splinters.

Sterlan held tightly onto my arm, looking to Elras to stand on my other side. Vernyn stood behind me and Ruban before me. I could hardly see the riot, but I could hear the screams and shouts amongst the angry _thud_ s and other sounds of conflict.

My left arm stung. Blood was dripping through my fingertips as I tried to stem the flow. My tears began to fall reluctantly as I was quickly shepherded back into the castle gates. Sterlan squeezed my arm, as if trying to comfort me.

The four men took me to a bench near the courtyard and let me sit down to collect myself. So many people were running around frantically. Not far from where I was, King Joffrey, who had wiped most of the shit off his face, was throwing a tantrum.

"TRAITORS!" he hollered. "I'LL HAVE THEIR HEADS!"

"OH, YOU BLIND, BLOODY FOOL!" cried Tyrion, whom I had just noticed was sitting against the wall by the gate I had just been ushered through.

"Are you alright, Fallon?" Sterlan asked, taking a knee in front of me.

"Yes," I nodded, glancing down at my bleeding arm.

"I'll get something from Pycelle," Ruban offered, scampering away.

"YOU CAN'T INSULT ME!" Joffrey growled at his uncle and sat on another bench.

"WE'VE HAD VICIOUS KINGS AND WE'VE HAD IDIOT KINGS, BUT I DON'T KNOW IF WE'VE EVER BEEN CURSED WITH A VICIOUS IDIOT FOR A KING!" Tyrion yelled as he stepped over to get in Joffrey's face.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Sterlan grabbed my hand to pull it away from my wound.

"I-It's nothing," I choked out.

"Y-Y-YOU CAN'T—"

"I CAN, I AM," Tyrion interrupted his nephew.

" _THEY_ ATTACKED _ME_!" Joffrey screeched.

"THEY THREW A _COW PIE_ AT YOU SO YOU DECIDED TO KILL THEM ALL?! THEY'RE _STARVING_ , YOU FOOL! ALL BECAUSE OF A WAR _YOU_ STARTED!"

"YOU'RE TALKING TO A KING!"

 _SMACK!_

"AAH!"

"And now I've _struck_ a king. Did my hand fall from my wrist?!" Tyrion's voice lowered slightly.

"Th-Thank you. Y-You s-saved me," I looked at Sterlan.

"No need to thank me," he murmured, putting my hand back on the wound. "It's shallow. I don't think we'll need to cut your arm off."

I mustered a tearful snicker, despite everything. Sterlan smiled at me, his face now devoid of any bruising. Then he stood up to lean against the wall as we waited for Ruban's return.

"WHERE IS THE STARK GIRL?" Tyrion yelled, walking closer to where I sat with the other musicians.

My face fell and I whipped my head around, looking for Sansa in all the chaos. I stood up, turning every which way. But she couldn't be found.

"Let them have her!" Joffrey seethed.

"If she dies, you'll never get your uncle Jaime back!" Tyrion reminded his nephew. "You owe him quite a bit, you know!"

"We'll see to it you get another lute, m'dear," Vernyn said from beside me, trying to distract me once I sat back down, tears streaming down my face. "I know a carpenter."

But my lute was now the farthest thing from my mind. I was beyond terrified for Sansa. She could be hurt, raped, or even killed. I grasped onto my skirts with my free hand and prayed to every single god I knew of that she would be okay.

"Take some men and go and find the Stark girl!" Tyrion commanded Meryn Trant, who was standing nearby.

"I take my orders from the _king_!" Trant snapped.

Tyrion turned to Joffrey, who stood up and walked away.

I wanted to get up and search for the girl myself, but I knew that there was nothing I could do for her.

Then, as if answering all of my prayers, A door opened and Sandor ducked through, Lady Sansa slung over his broad shoulder. He set her down gently on another bench.

Without much thought, I stood up and found myself walking over to them. Elras called out to me, but I ignored him. Two handmaidens shoved me out of the way and came to Sansa's side, while Tyrion came over himself. I stepped out behind Sandor and stood next to the Lannister.

"Are you hurt, my lady?" Tyrion asked the disheveled girl.

Her hair was messy and her dress was in tatters. She had a dead look in her eyes that made my stomach turn.

"The little bird's bleeding," Sandor said, not noticing me yet. "Someone take her back to her cage, see to that cut."

He turned on his heel and almost ran into me. He stopped in his tracks and glanced down at my own cut. He looked angry, but he said nothing. He only touched my shoulder in a way that might look like he was trying to move me out of his way. If he hadn't been wearing his gauntlet, I'm sure his hand would have felt gentle.

"Well done, Clegane," Tyrion looked at him as Sandor went to leave.

Sandor looked at him in disgust. "I didn't do it for _you_."

Both Lord Tyrion and I watched as he stormed off. I couldn't help but wish he had kept his hand on my shoulder just a moment longer. I wanted to be in his presence, but I knew it would be too risky for him to show me his version of affection right then.

"Fallon," Tyrion breathed, finally looking at me. "You're hurt."

"It's only a scratch, my lord," I muttered, stepping past him.

Sansa had not yet responded to a word either of the handmaidens had said to her, but when I knelt at her other side, she reached out with a shaking hand and grabbed mine. Her eyes were shining, one of them surrounded by a cut.

My mind began to race. Whatever had happened to her, I hoped Sandor hadn't been too late.

* * *

The dressing tied around my arm felt very tight as I returned to my chamber. The men in my troupe had gone to raid the kitchens, but I wasn't hungry. Practice hadn't been the same, what with my lute's destruction. Ruban had given me a loner, an old broken one he had found in the room we usually met in, but it sounded like shit.

With my hands clasped together before me, I walked through the dim corridors. All I could hear was the dull sound of my own sandals on the stone floor until I reached the spiral staircase.

At least two people were walking down the stairs. I gulped when King Joffrey came into view, a helmed guard at his elbow. I quickly curtsied when the young man laid his beady eyes on me.

"Your Grace," I murmured.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm one of your court musicians, Your Grace," I said, leaning my back against the rounded wall.

"Do you think I'm blind?" Joffrey retorted.

"Of course not," I shook my head.

"I've seen you before. You sang for my father."

"I did."

"You were the handmaiden for the little Stark cunt," Joffrey smirked.

It was all I could do to keep from scratching his eyes out.

"You rode in with the traitor Eddard Stark's brother when she made a scene outside of Winterfell," Joffrey continued.

I gulped again, remembering how Benjen had saved me from the skell who attempted to rape me in the winter town. Though Benjen had meant so much to me, it wasn't a memory I enjoyed thinking of.

"You've allied with confessed traitors," Joffrey stepped closer and glanced down at the gray dress I was wearing.

"I am loyal to the Crown, _Your Grace_ ," I told him. "Take the dressing off of my arm. You'll see how I've bled for you."

Joffrey stared into my eyes. I began to worry that he would realize I wasn't being very honest with him. I thought of my conversation with Sandor, the night I had tried to assure him that Joffrey would never hurt me. I feared that the young blonde man before me was about to prove me wrong.

"I'll ask you again, musician," he finally said. "Who…are…you?"

Before I could open my mouth to speak, I heard another set of footsteps descending the stairs. Glancing over the king's shoulder, I felt relieved when I saw Lord Tyrion come into view.

"Fallon," Tyrion came to stand near the king and myself. "What are you doing out so late?"

"I was off to bed after rehearsing with my troupe, my lord," I told him, dipping into another curtsy. "I made acquaintance with Your Grace along the way," I nodded to Joffrey.

"My dear, you look positively exhausted," Tyrion reached out and grabbed my hand, holding it in both of his. He gazed deeply into my eyes, as if trying to communicate that I should take his cue.

"How observant of you," I feigned a yawn, covering my mouth with my hand once Tyrion released it, and then turned to look back at Joffrey. "You're very fortunate to have such a sharp-minded man as your Hand, Your Grace."

Joffrey glared at his uncle for a moment.

"Fallon, your name is?" Joffrey asked, his eyes back on me.

"Aye, Your Grace," I curtsied once more. "Fallon of Flea Bottom, as your mother, the queen regent has taken to calling me."

"Flea Bottom? I thought you were of the North," he furrowed his brow.

"I have lived in many places," I bowed my head, then feigned another yawn. "I beg pardon, Your Grace."

Joffrey narrowed his eyes at me, then gestured to his guard to follow him as he left me on the stairwell with Tyrion.

"Did he lay a hand on you?" the lord asked once Joffrey was out of earshot.

"Not a finger, my lord," I shook my head.

"Good," Tyrion nodded. "Best keep it that way."

I shivered, remembering what Sandor had told me about Tyrion's belated nameday present to the king. I wondered if word had gotten back to him about whatever Joffrey had subjected those two whores to.

"I shall do my best, my lord," I nodded and went to step past him on my way back to my chamber. I stopped a step above him and turned to look at him once more. "Thank you."

* * *

"You were hurt," Sandor gestured to the dressing on my arm.

"A flea bite," I shrugged and walked over to my changing screen. "I can't imagine this scratch would compare to any of _your_ battle wounds."

Sandor scoffed and I heard him sit on my bed. I busied myself with taking my gray dress off and replacing it with my white nightgown.

"You think that riot was anything like a battle?" he said.

"Do you think me a fool, Clegane?" I leaned my head out to grin at him.

He was leaning against my headboard, shirt and boots discarded on the floor. There was a ghost of a smirk on his face as he looked back at me. I bit my lip, glancing down at the scars underneath the hair on his chest.

"Yeh wouldn't last five seconds in a battle," Sandor's smirk grew.

"Can't argue that," I bounced my eyebrows and stepped out from behind the screen.

I stepped over to the other side of the bed and climbed onto it. Curling into a ball on my side, I rested my head in Sandor's lap and stared up at him. He reached out a hand and hesitantly placed it on my hip.

"Wish I had been there to keep you from getting hurt," he muttered.

"It's quite alright," I assured him. "You were doing your sworn duty, protecting Joffrey and all that. Besides, I'm more upset that I lost my lute in the fray than anything…"

"Thought I told yeh to be more careful with yer things," he grumbled good-naturedly, squeezing my hip.

"A lesson I've never forgotten," I smiled. "That was the first time we ever spoke."

"Aye, it was," Sandor nodded. "Yeh were a pain in my arse then and yeh're a pain in my arse now."

I rolled my eyes playfully. "You could do much worse."

Sandor watched as I got up on my knees and came closer to him. I put my hand over his heart and leaned down to kiss him gently. I eased myself down and rested my head against his shoulder. His arm snaked around me, holding me tight against his body.

"If you, er, don't mind me asking," I started, "what was happening when you found Sansa?"

Sandor's body tensed up and his lips straightened into a line. "Little bird had been cornered by some rapers. Had her on her back. Would've taken her every which way and left her there with her throat cut open."

I closed my eyes, chills running down my spine. "D-Did they…?"

"Roughed her up a bit. Didn't do much past that."

I wrapped my arm around him and pressed my body into his side.

"Joffrey wouldn't send anyone to look for her," I told him. "Lord Tyrion tried, but no one listened. They would have let her…" I couldn't even bring myself to speak it out loud. "As if the girl hasn't suffered enough."

He held me in silence, breathing slowly and deeply.

"You're a truer knight than anyone who's sworn their vows," I whispered. "Seven save you, Sandor Clegane."


	26. First Blood

**_Sandor Clegane awoke_** _with a numb arm. He turned his head and peered out the window, as he always left a gap in the curtain when he slept in Fallon's chamber, in order to gauge the time. He saw the dark sky fading into a deep shade of blue. Dawn was almost upon them and he knew he had to return to his own quarters before his squire came to collect his armor._

 _Unfortunately for him, there was a young woman dead asleep on top of his forearm._

 _Fallon's back was pressed against his side with her legs curled into her chest. She breathed slowly and steadily, seeming to be at peace—as if that were possible as a secret Stark loyalist in King's fucking Landing._

 _Sandor looked at her sleeping and felt pressure on his chest. He began to wonder for the umpteenth time how the fuck a misanthropic old dog like him could have been loved by someone as pure and good as the songbird._

 _If he had been more of a believer, he would have gambled that the Seven were playing some cruel sort of joke on him, to repay him for all the blood he had shed. He half-expected to wake up one morning and find that she had really been an old hag all along, whom the gods had glamored to appear differently in his eyes. Or maybe she would be snatched away from him, be it by the Stranger or, much worse, the king._

 _Taking another glance out of the window, Sandor heaved a great sigh. Reluctantly, he pulled his arm out from under her, bracing himself for the pins and needles. Fallon rolled over onto her stomach, a gentle moan escaping her lips. Sandor stretched his arm out, trying to keep his blood flowing, then he sat up and put his feet to the floor._

 _"Do you have to leave?"_

 _He whipped his head over his shoulder, hardly able to see her in the darkness._

 _"Aye, songbird, I do," he told her, shoving his feet into his boots._

 _"I wish you didn't," she replied groggily._

 _Sandor could hear her moving on the bed, but focused on grabbing his shirt from the floor. He threw his arms through the sleeves before tying it together and stood up, turning to look at Fallon once more. She was up on her elbow, staring at him from what he could tell._

 _"Sleep, girl, for those who can't," he told her._

 _"Come back to bed," Fallon rubbed the spot where he had just been lying._

 _Gods, he was tempted to. But he remained strong and crossed the floor of her chamber, carefully opening the door a sliver and checking that no one else was around. He took one last look at the girl he could feel staring at him, and then he left her alone._

* * *

I couldn't help but feel like someone was staring at me as I walked through the courtyard to visit the stables. I wondered if it was the child bearing a stack of hay, the septa cross-stitching in on a bench nearby, or the young girl sitting with her.

 _You're too paranoid for your own good_ , I thought to myself, ignoring their eyes.

I entered the stable, suddenly feeling guilty for not visiting Shevaun in the longest time. I was sure she had been taken very good care of, but that was no excuse for me not to see her. Shevaun seemed to feel the same way when I came to her stall.

"Hello, girl," I whispered, reaching out to stroke under her chin.

My horse turned her head away from me, snorting as she did so. I chewed on my bottom lip, slightly amused at the mare's behavior.

"My sincerest apologies," I said, but Shevaun wouldn't look at me. "I've missed you very much."

She snorted yet again.

"I've been extremely busy."

Once more.

"What do you want from me?" I put my hands on my hips. "A curtsy?"

Shevaun's head turned slightly back towards me, as if she were giving me a sidelong glance.

"Seven _hells_ , you are stubborn," I grumbled playfully.

Stepping back, I grabbed my skirts and sank myself into the deepest curtsy. I felt incredibly foolish, trying to appease a _horse_ this way, but a girl has to do what a girl has to do, doesn't she? I was glad that no one was there to see—

"Fallon?"

The bottom of my stomach fell out. I shot straight up, turning to the door at the stable. I gulped when I saw a figure standing there, staring at me.

"Were you…?"

"I-It…I was…you see, my horse—" I babbled, glancing away from Sterlan to look at Shevaun, who had finally turned her head to greet me.

"Relax, you've no need to explain yourself to me," Sterlan grinned, holding his hands up. "I've already come to understand that you Northerners are a strange bunch."

I shook my head, trying to hide my sheepish expression. I turned and stroked Shevaun's neck gently. I pressed my forehead against her face, closing my eyes to savor the moment. Being near her felt like I was back home, taking a break from cleaning chamber pots and braiding hair. I could practically hear Hodor, the simple man who worked in the stables, murmuring his own name, as I had never heard him say anything other than that.

"You going for a ride?" Sterlan asked quietly.

"No," I sighed. "Just saying hello." I opened my eyes and looked over my shoulder at him. "And you?"

"I was merely enjoying the sunshine while I still can," Sterlan shrugged.

"Winter _is_ coming," I mumbled under my breath.

"Thought I heard a voice in the stables and decided to investigate. Then I found you, treating your trusted steed with more respect than I've seen you give the queen," he snickered.

"Yes, well, respect is certainly earned, isn't it?" I bounced my eyebrows.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear you say that."

I felt my lips curling into an unwilling smile and turned back to Shevaun, touching my forehead to hers once more. Then I whispered a goodbye to her and clasped my hands together before me and walked towards the door to the stable.

Sterlan looked around nervously, his throat bobbing. "I, er, shall bid you farewell," he bowed his head to me.

"Wait," I reached out and grabbed his sleeve before he could step away.

"Fallon, I don't want to _upset_ anybody."

"You won't," I assured him, letting go of his sleeve. "I only wish to thank you for saving my life during the riot."

"You've already thanked me. And I've already told you there's no need," Sterlan glanced around one more time.

"I don't take acts like these lightly, Sterlan. I owe you my life," I implored.

He sighed and took a step back. "If you really want to protect my life, you won't speak to me out in the open where _hounds_ come prowling."

I pursed my lips, watching him turn away from me. Fitting, I had thought, the one time I actually wanted to speak to him he was actually heeding my prior warnings…

* * *

Re-entering the halls of the Red Keep, I decided to check up on the eldest Stark daughter. It was almost time for lunch, so I figured the first place I should go was her quarters. And when I came to her door, I could have sworn I heard the muffled sound of weeping.

I pressed my ear against the door and heard the sound even louder. A girl was crying inside while another comforted her. Feeling my heart sink, I knocked on the door. The crying halted for a moment, then I heard whispering. A light pair of feet came to the other side of the door and I took a step back. The door opened a crack and I was met with the dark eye of Shae.

"My lady does not want to be disturbed," she said in her thick accent.

"Of course not," I bowed my head. "But will you please tell her that Fallon sends her best wishes?"

Before the handmaiden could respond, I heard Sansa's tearful voice.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"The singer," Shae said over her shoulder. "Fallon."

"Let her in," Sansa said.

In a moment of hesitation, Shae stared at me coldly, trying to analyze my intentions. Then she finally opened the door and held it for me. She stared at my back as I walked past her, I could feel it. There was something about her that gave me an uncomfortable vibe, even though I felt that she was one of the few in this castle that truly cared about Sansa.

"Are you alright, my lady?" I asked, coming to the table where Sansa sat.

Though it was midday, she had not yet changed out of her blue nightgown. Her hair was tied back in a simple, messy braid.

Sansa did not reply. She didn't even look into my eyes. She only turned her head over her shoulder, towards her mattress. I stepped over and noticed that her bed was in disarray, blankets and sheets thrown about. And then I saw the pool of red blood in the middle of her sheet. There was a tear in the fabric, as well as a few holes in the mattress, as if someone had tried to cut the stain out of her bed.

"You had your first blood," I breathed, my heart breaking. "Sweet girl…" I began, coming back to stand before her.

"I'm not a girl, I'm a woman now," Sansa finally said in a wooden voice. "I'm fit to have Joffrey's babies. We'll be married after the war is over."

"Sansa, does the queen know?" I asked, kneeling down and grabbing her hands from her lap.

"She does," Shae interjected from behind me. "That ugly man told her."

"The Hound is kind to me. He did not want to tell her," Sansa snapped her glistening eyes to the handmaiden.

My heart sank even deeper than it did before. Sandor had been here. He had seen the blood. He had reported it back to Cersei.

"You say he did not want to tell her. But he still did," Shae argued.

"He did what he had to do," I gulped, remembering the night Sandor had killed Mycah. I had taken him to task for his actions, upset at what he had done, and he taught me a lesson about duty.

"If he didn't tell the queen, she would have had him beheaded," Sansa pointed out.

I shook my head, trying not to imagine a world where that had happened.

"I still do not like that ugly man. He shouldn't have come in here," Shae said stiffly.

"He _wouldn't_ have seen me if you hadn't run off and left the door open," Sansa told her.

"I was trying to protect you," Shae said. "The other handmaiden saw what happened. If I hadn't gone after her—"

"It doesn't matter," Sansa cut her off. "The queen would have found out eventually."

"There's still time," I squeezed Sansa's hands before releasing them and getting to my feet. "The war isn't over, little lady. You haven't married Joffrey yet. A lot can happen in a short amount of time. As hard as I can imagine it being, you _must_ try to stay positive."

"I've heard things," Sansa looked up into my eyes. "The war could end sooner than you think. King Robert's brother is on his way to take King's Landing."

"Renly or Stannis?" I asked, not having heard this particular information.

"Stannis," Sansa told me. "Renly was killed."

I gulped once again. Last I knew, Stannis had made his home on Dragonstone. That couldn't have been a very long boat ride to the Red Keep.

"Stannis won't hurt me," she whispered, a glimmer of hope in her Tully blue eyes.

* * *

I was retreating to my chamber for the night when I heard the clanking of armor behind me on the stairs. My heart started beating rapidly and I took deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself down.

I tried convincing myself that it was only a coincidence that I was climbing the stairs at the same time as a pair of armored men. They were only going to pass me on their way up, right?

"That's 'er, innit?" one of them whispered loud enough for me to hear it.

"Aye, that's her with the scars," the other man answered.

My mouth dried up and my heart was pounding incredibly fast. Who were they? What did they want from me? Were they going to hurt me?

Their footsteps quickened behind me. I couldn't bring myself to turn to see who they were. Instead, I opened the door to the nearest corridor and snuck in, hoping that maybe there was a chance I could lose them. I hadn't walked many paces when the door opened with a loud _boom!_

"Oi, girl!" one of the men shouted to me.

I could try to run, but I knew I wasn't fast enough. Instead, I slowly turned on my heel and finally looked at the men of the Kingsguard who had been tailing me on the stairs. My body was shaking in terror. I wanted Sandor to appear and save me, but I doubted he would pop out of the painting to my side.

"You've been summoned by King Joffrey," one of them said as he stepped forward.

I took a deep breath and tried to stay brave. "And what business does the king have with me? Would he like a song?"

The guard smirked at me from underneath his helm and put a hand on the pommel of his sword threateningly. "I doubt it, girl."

Before I knew it, he grabbed my arm tightly. I breathed sharply through my teeth, his gauntlet-clad hand causing me pain as he pulled me along with him out of the corridor. If only he knew what Sandor would do to him if he saw the way he was treating me…

 _Sandor_ , a voice in my head said, _Gods, I wish he was here right now_.

"What is happening?" I asked, being led down the stairs I had just climbed. "Why are you doing this?"

"King's orders," the other guard said. "Now shut it."

The terror I felt as I was escorted through the castle was indescribable. Every step we got closer to Joffrey's chamber my heart pounded harder. I had never been so afraid of dying in my life. And if I hadn't been dragged along by the guard, I doubt I would have had it in me to step up to the doorway.

The other guard rapped loudly on the door. A harsh voice from inside called for our entrance. When the door opened, the guard holding onto my arm thrust me into the large, dimly-lit chamber. I stumbled over my feet, grabbing his forearm to support myself as we ventured further in.

King Joffrey stood in the center of his room, his crossbow sitting on the table beside him. Two other Kingsguard stood at his shoulders, but neither of them were Sandor.

"You found her," Joffrey commented. "Good."

"Y-Your Grace," I dipped into a shaky curtsy once the guard released my arm.

"Are you frightened, Fallon of Flea Bottom?" he asked in a voice that almost sounded concerned. "Were my men rough with you?"

"N-No, Your Grace," I lied. "I'm only confused as to why I was brought here."

"Of course you are. Plucked out of your bed, no doubt?" Joffrey stepped closer, his hands behind his back.

"Found 'er roaming the castle," the guard who had opened the door for us said.

"Roaming the castle, were you?" Joffrey raised an eyebrow.

"I had just finished practicing with my troupe, Your Grace. I was on my way to bed," I explained.

"On your way to bed? Alone?" Joffrey stopped right ahead of me.

"I beg pardon," I furrowed my brow.

"Were you going to bed _alone_?"

"O-Of course, Your Grace."

"Tell me," Joffrey slow began to circle around me, "are you married?"

"I am not," I shook my head.

"Are you betrothed?"

"I am not."

"But you _do_ have a lover?"

Pressure sat on my chest. I found it hard to breathe, hard to swallow. And when Joffrey stood at my shoulder, staring at me with his icy blue eyes, I felt my lip start to tremble.

"It's a great crime to lie to a king," he said, calling to mind what King Robert had said at the inn at the crossroads.

"I…" was all I could muster at the moment.

"Your _king_ has asked you a question," one of the guards by the table said. I recognized his voice to be Meryn Trant's.

"If you lie to me, I'll do much worse than cut your hair and have you flogged," Joffrey added.

"I-I am in love," I choked out.

"There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Joffrey smirked at me. Then he turned to Meryn Trant and barked out, "Bring him here."


	27. A Message

**_The moment Sandor_** _Clegane laid eyes on Fallon, he felt immense pressure on his chest._

 _Though he was far away from her, he could still see the mixture of confusion and terror in her eyes. She stood beside the young cunt, her pale hands clasping at her gray skirts. Sandor had never wanted to rip Joffrey's limbs off more than he did in this moment for putting her through this._

 _Fallon's eyes met his and he could have sworn that he saw a flash of relief as he tugged roughly on Sterlan's elbow. The disheveled musician stumbled along with him and Mandon Moore as they dragged him further into the main chamber._

 _Joffrey, an enormous smirk on his cunt face, turned to look at Fallon. Sandor watched as Fallon gulped, her lips trembling. Her eyes had snapped from Sandor's to the bruised and bloodied drummer struggling to keep up. Fallon's eyes were shining in the candlelight as they came closer._

 _"Mother says you speak far too much," Joffrey simpered. "She'll be overjoyed when she finds I've rendered you speechless."_

 _Sandor noticed a tear sliding down Fallon's cheek, her eyes fixed on Sterlan. Sandor let go of his arm, dropping him to the ground in unison with Moore. The bruised man expelled a ragged breath, making a half-hearted effort to free his hands which were bound behind his back._

 _"My father enjoyed your voice. My uncle enjoys your voice. You would not be here if not for your voice," Joffrey continued, his words almost sounding pleasant. "Surely you have something to say…"_

 _Fallon's chest heaved, but didn't deflate for many seconds. It was as if she had to make a conscious effort to breathe properly._

 _"This man is your love—my spies saw you with him outside of the stables," Joffrey pressed._

 _Sandor felt a different sort of pressure on his chest at these words. Clearly the drummer was a halfwit who hadn't learned his lesson. And look where it got him._

 _Fallon's quivering lips parted. She said something so quietly that Sandor could not hear._

 _"What was that?" Joffrey made a show of cupping his hand behind his ear. "Repeat yourself. Louder."_

 _"Why are you doing this?" Fallon said hoarsely._

 _"Why am I doing this?" Joffrey echoed. "Because it pleases me."_

 _Another tear fell down Fallon's cheek._

 _"I am the rightful king. And that means that I do as I please," Joffrey added, turning his head back to the drummer on the floor. "You. What is your name?"_

 _"Sterlan…Your Grace," the man puffed out, bowing slightly from where he sat on his knees._

 _"Do you know why I've had my men take you in, Sterlan?"_

 _"Because…it pleases you…Your Grace."_

 _"I must hand it to you," Joffrey smirked over his shoulder at Fallon. "You've picked a clever man." Then he turned back to Sterlan. "You are correct. But there is another reason you are here this night. Care to hazard a guess?"_

 _"You need not…explain yourself…Your Grace," Sterlan slurred, his bottom lip having been split when Moore and Sandor had received the orders to grab him and rough him up. "Not to…humble servants…like me."_

 _"How dare you tell your_ king _how to rule?" Trant growled._

 _"It's quite alright, Ser Meryn," Joffrey said in his false voice. His eyes were glimmering and wild. "He will be punished. But not yet."_

 _Sandor turned his attention to Fallon once more. She looked dead inside, breathing irregularly, tears streaming silently down her face. Her eyes never left Sterlan's, like she was trying to communicate with him nonverbally._

 _"Worry not, Sterlan," Joffrey stepped closer and stared down at the drummer. "You are about to be part of something important."_

 _"Thank you…Your Grace."_

 _"Moore, help me send a message to my uncle," Joffrey said. "He may be serving as Hand of the King, but that will not protect his friends, nor their loved ones, from—"_

 _"I don't love him."_

 _Sandor's eyes snapped to Fallon, who had just spoken. He couldn't believe his ears._

 _"_ What _?" Joffrey turned to her, any semblance of pleasantry in his voice disappearing._

 _Sandor grabbed the pommel of his sword, unsure of what he might have to do with it and when. He had hoped that Fallon would play things smart and that he wouldn't have to take on half the Kingsguard after killing Joffrey for trying to hurt her—a turn of events he had been preparing himself for almost the entire time he knew her._

 _"I don't love him," she repeated, tearing her eyes away from Sterlan. "I never have and I never will."_

 _"Need I remind you it's a great crime to_ lie _to a_ king _?" Joffrey seethed._

 _"I'm not lying," Fallon said in her broken voice._

 _Sandor wanted to shake her. She would never learn. She had lived in the North for far too long, he could practically see the wolf tail wagging behind her. And just as he had warned her so many times, her beliefs in honesty and honor were going to get her killed._

 _He gripped his pommel tighter, his heart beating fast, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He knew he was quick for his size, but he wasn't sure he was quick enough to save her if and when Joffrey ordered her dead._

 _"Don't listen… She's only trying…to protect me…" Sterlan piped up. "She knows…that I would die for her…gladly… I have made my peace…with the gods."_

 _"Sterlan," Fallon choked out._

 _"I love you," Sterlan said to her. "Know that."_

 _Fallon closed her eyes, her tears continuing to pour._

 _"Open your eyes," Joffrey snapped in her direction. Fallon obeyed. "The message is for you as well." Then he turned back to the guard beside Sandor. "Ser Mandon."_

 _Without a word, Moore unsheathed a dagger. He stepped forward, grabbing a tuft of Sterlan's curly dark hair, and drew his blade across the drummer's throat._

* * *

Not a sound had left my mouth after I was escorted from Joffrey's chamber.

I had been forced to agree that the message had been received. I had been forced to watch as Mandon Moore dragged Sterlan's lifeless body across the floor, pulling him away so he could leave him in the Tower of the Hand. And then I had been taken back to my own chamber by the guards who had found me on the stairs.

My eyes were stinging from the tears I had cried. My fingers were sore from clenching at my skirts so tightly. My heart felt heavy from the guilt I was carrying. Then my body stiffened at the sound of the door opening behind me.

I didn't have to turn around to know who had entered my room. I kept my hands on my windowsill, staring out into the dark night. The cool winds gently blew on my curtain, making the thin white fabric dance in the air beside me. My hair tickled my shoulders, a prospect that would have pleased me any other time, but not this night.

"You shouldn't be here," I told him.

His heavy footsteps halted behind me. I could feel his presence, so tall and powerful. But I couldn't be bothered to look at him at this moment. I didn't want to look at anyone.

"He was a fucking idiot."

I sighed, hanging my head down low and closing my eyes.

"Should've killed him long ago," Sandor continued.

"He saved my life," I told him, raising my head. "In the riot. A peasant stole my lute and tried to bludgeon me with it. But he saved me."

Sandor was quiet.

"Do you know what happened at the stables?" I asked.

Silence, again.

"I thanked him for saving me, but he didn't want to hear it. He tried to walk away because he didn't want to upset you. But I grabbed his sleeve and made him hear me out," I said, the guilt weighing even heavier on my chest. "And I told him—"

Sandor put a hand on my shoulder as I put my face in my hands. My body wracked with sobs. I didn't think I would have been able to produce more tears, but there I was.

"I t-told him that I o-owed him m-my life," I wept.

Gods, I hated to cry in front of Sandor. I didn't want him to think me weaker than I already was, and I knew he didn't enjoy comforting others, even if they were me. Though I did always appreciate his efforts. Just one of his hands on my shoulder or on the back of my head made me feel better than a thousand hugs or kind words.

"Why did he do this?" I asked, wiping at my eyes. "Because his mother hates me? Because Lord Tyrion is fond of me?"

"Because he's a cunt," Sandor grumbled behind me, squeezing my shoulder. "Yeh said it yerself, little songbird, he's a monster."

"Sterlan is dead because of me," I closed my eyes. "I might as well have executed him myself…"

Sandor hesitated for a moment. "You nearly got yer _self_ executed tonight. You don't understand how lucky you are to be alive, girl."

"I didn't want him to die," I whispered. "For all we went through, I couldn't let him die. Not like that. I couldn't lie and pretend he was my love."

"So you would've gotten yerself killed to protect that cocksucker?" Sandor demanded, removing his hand from my shoulder.

"I thought it was the right thing to do," I gulped.

"It fucking _wasn't_ ," his voice was growing more irritated with every word. "When are you going to get it through that thick fucking head of yours that honor has no place here?

"I was ready to kill everyone in that fucking room if they laid a fucking hand on you, did you know that? I was waiting for that little cunt Joffrey to hurt you. Do yeh know what he would have done if that fucking drummer hadn't spoken up?"

My whole body was shaking. His words had struck me to my core. I couldn't stop the tears that were falling down my face yet again.

"I want to go h-home," I whimpered, unable to stop myself.

Sandor didn't say anything, not for a few seconds. But I could feel his hard eyes on the back of my head.

"The drummer is _dead_ ," he continued as if I hadn't said anything.

I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying my hardest to stay on my feet and not fall to my knees.

"But _you_ are alive," Sandor added in a significantly different tone. He reached out his hand once more and grabbed my shoulder. "Learn from this. Learn from everything that's happened since those lions stepped foot in Winterfell. And don't let him die for nothing."

I took a deep, shaky breath and removed my hands from my face. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I sh-should've listened to you the first time."

"Aye, yeh should've," he squeezed my shoulder.

"W-We need to be more careful," I told him. "If Joffrey has eyes everywhere…"

"'Snot just Joffrey," Sandor said. "The queen, Littlefinger, the eunuch, they all have their spies."

A chill went down my spine. "Then we _definitely_ need to be more careful," I hummed.

Finally, I turned around to look at him. He had taken his hand off my shoulder and I grabbed it with one of mine before he could rest it at his side once again. I placed his hand on my cheek and nuzzled into it for a moment.

"You should go," I breathed, kissing the palm of his hand.

"Smartest thing yeh've said all night," he muttered, a slightly playful tinge to his voice, but I couldn't bring myself to smile.

I let go of Sandor's hand, but he kept it on my face. He leaned his head down and placed a kiss on the top of my head. Then he lowered his hand to my shoulder once more and squeezed before turning around and walking to the door.

* * *

 **Well, that two day break I was giving myself lasted longer than I thought it would...**

 **I'm so sorry for disappearing, I really missed writing this, but, as always, life got in the way. C'est la vie, am I right or am I right?**

 **And I'm also sorry that it's kind of on the short side. But...Blackwater is coming up soon (my favorite episode, to be completely honest with you guys). I'm STOKED to start working on that!**

 **ALSO, HOLY SHIT, YOU GUYS WERE GOOD AT PREDICTING MY TWIST! I was hoping to keep you guys on your toes, but I guess you're all too smart for me, hahaha.**

 **As always, thank you SO much for your kind reviews and thank you for favoriting/following. When I first started writing this I was so nervous that everyone was going to hate it and that I was going to get dragged because, to be honest, when I started writing I had JUST finished watching the show up to season six for the first time and I wasn't one hundred percent certain on the subject matter. But you guys have really made me feel like I made the right decision in writing this and I can't thank you enough. Your kindness, your encouragement, and most of all your patience-I can't thank you guys enough.**

 **Oops, sorry, this note is almost as long as the chapter itself. Anyway, I just wanted to say that I love you guys and you're all the best.**


	28. Blackwater

**"You _really_ shouldn't** be here," I hissed through the crack, peering over Sandor's shoulder as if I could actually see anyone in the dimly-lit corridor.

Heaving a great sigh, Sandor lazily applied pressure to the door, pushing it gently against me to show me that he could easily come in if he wanted to. He gave me a look that dared me to challenge him.

"Isn't Stannis' fleet approaching? Shouldn't you be preparing for siege?" I asked.

"Let me in, girl," he drawled.

"Is anyone around?"

Sandor looked at me with great annoyance, but relented to glance over his shoulders both ways and shook his head to me. I chewed my lip before opening the door and allowing him into my chamber. He stepped in and shut the door behind him.

"Will yeh be in the holdfast?" he asked, his hands on his hips.

"Ha," I scoffed. "You think the queen would invite me to simper with the highborn ladies in Maegor's Holdfast?"

"Yeh're not singing?" he pressed, ignoring the smirk on my face.

"Oh, right," I pursed my lips. "No, interestingly enough, we were not invited to perform. Instead I'll be here, praying all night to the Seven."

"Praying?" Sandor cocked an eyebrow, beginning to remove his armor.

"But of course," I grinned and took a seat on my mattress to watch him, tucking my knees underneath my body. "Perhaps the Mother will finally take pity on me and let Joffrey die in the fray."

"Pft," Sandor gave me a look. "Yeh think that nance is going to fight?"

" _Of course_ , he'll surely be leading the attack in the vanguard," I said facetiously.

The corner of his lips raised slightly, showing to me that he had caught on to my sarcasm by the time he pulled his spaulders off his shoulders. Then he set to removing his brigandine, revealing his green shirt.

"Little cunt won't smell a drop of blood," Sandor puffed, stepping closer to me. "Been fighting his battles for him since they made me his guard."

"Then I suppose I shall pray for you instead," I said, grabbing his hands to steady myself as I stood atop my mattress. I was barely taller than him, the tip of my nose hanging just above his. His brown eyes looked up into mine, his hands finding their way to my hips when I let go to put mine on his broad shoulders.

"Gods won't be what keeps me safe," he grumbled.

I smiled, knowing that Sandor believed in the gods about as little as I honestly did. Since he clearly didn't want to play along with me, I chose to lean forward and kiss him on the lips.

"Seems yeh're in a better mood," Sandor murmured.

"Seems I am," I shrugged.

"He was a fucking idiot."

"I know," I pressed my forehead against his. "But he was a _kind_ idiot. He sacrificed himself for us."

I didn't want to dwell on Sterlan's execution for too long. There was a very real possibility that this could be the last moment I would spend with Sandor. Though I knew he was a skilled warrior, I was not a Greenseer. I couldn't see the future. I couldn't know if I would ever feel his strong hands holding me close to him again.

"Lie down with me," I whispered, kissing him once more before finding my way back to the mattress. I slid back against the headboard and looked at him. The corner of his lips twitched as he stared back at me, not moving otherwise. After a moment, he crawled onto my bed beside me.

The familiar inner fuzziness crested over my body as I took the unburnt side of Sandor's face in my hand and craned my neck to meet his face with mine. Sandor pulled me closer and I maneuvered my way to straddle his lap while our lips were still locked together.

Getting caught up in the moment, I reached underneath me and found the strings of his shirt. I started tugging at the green fabric and Sandor sat up to help me. I pulled back from his face to look him in the eyes as I pulled his arms from his sleeves and tossed the shirt to the side. But instead of resuming our long, passionate kiss, my eyes wandered to his chest once more.

I ran my fingertips over his hard muscles, feeling the results of his long days of training. Sandor stared at me in my trance, but didn't move, even when my fingers found a scar under the coarse light brown hair that grew on his chest. He let me trace the dark pink scar, which decorated his right pectoral, just underneath his collarbone.

"What happened here?" I asked, finally looking back into his eyes.

"Sparred with my squire. Let 'im get me. _Once_ ," he smirked.

"Wasn't that nice of you?" I murmured. "Where was your armor?"

"Took it off. Wanted to show him results."

"And what about here?" I asked, finding another scar, only this one was near his ribcage, and it was more faded than the rest.

"Got in a fight as a boy," Sandor covered my hand over his wound as he reminisced. "Skell boys from town put the jump on me, tried to steal my chicken."

"A worthy cause for a fight," I grinned, taking my other hand and finding a small scar on his left forearm. "And what happened _here_?"

Sandor glanced down at where my fingers were tracing once again and his eyebrow twitched.

"Rebellion," he grunted.

"You fought in Robert's Rebellion?" my eyebrows shot up.

"Aye," he nodded once.

"What about here?" I asked, finding another scar above the last one.

"Gutted my first man at twelve. Not before he gave me this," Sandor cocked his head to the wound.

"And thus began your love of killing?" I asked carefully.

Instead of responding vocally, Sandor stared at me for a moment, then he laid on his back and pulled me against his chest. I clung onto him, fitting my head under his chin. I could feel his fingers rubbing a circle into my back.

After allowing myself a few moments to lay like this with him, savoring the feeling of his body against mine, I sat up once again. I put my right hand on his chest to steady myself, then lifted my left hand to the burn on his face. My fingers hovered above the marred skin without touching it.

"And here?" I asked, only able to muster a small voice.

Sandor stared at my hand over his face, his mouth closed tightly. We shared a tense silence. I immediately regretted asking the question. I started to drop my left hand to my side, but he was quick to grab my wrist, moving my hand to sit with my other one. He covered both of my hands with his. I could feel his heart beating steadily, while mine was pounding in my chest. I couldn't bear to look him in the eyes, so I stared down at our stacked appendages.

"You don't ha—"

"I was a boy," he interrupted with a sigh. "My brother thought I stole his toy knight. I didn't. I was just playing with it."

I gulped, remembering the story Littlefinger had relayed at the tournament many moons before. The black-haired man's detailed whispers could not hold a candle to the pain I heard in Sandor's voice.

"Pressed me to the fire," Sandor added. "Smell was bad, little songbird. But the pain was worse."

"I'm so sorry," I finally looked at his face, my lip trembling.

"I was a _boy_ ," he repeated with a shake of his head. He was staring at our hands, just as I had been moments before. "And my _brother_ did it."

"Sandor," I murmured, feeling him squeeze my hands under his.

"My father protected him. Told everyone my bedding caught fire. That was when I knew I was alone in this world."

I leaned forward and did the only thing I could think of doing. I kissed the gnarled skin on the right side of his forehead. He let go of my hands and grabbed my arms, his eyes snapping up to meet mine.

"You're not alone," I whispered. "Not while I'm here."

Lowering my torso, I closed the distance between our faces. Sandor's grip on my arms softened gradually until he had let go of them altogether and instead held onto my thighs. I felt his rough hands ever so slowly sliding up my skin, dipping underneath the fabric of my nightgown.

He pulled away from the kiss and stared into my eyes, as if giving me one last chance to run away from him in terror. Only terror was the exact opposite of what I was feeling at this moment. My body was warm, fuzzy, tingling with excitement. I sat up once again and reached down to the skirt of my dress, helping him finish what he had started.

And for the next great while, scars and Stannis Baratheon were the furthest things from our minds.

* * *

 _Sandor Clegane had already been annoyed at the loud rendition of the Lannister's song. He found himself even more annoyed at the sound of laughter that greeted him when he and his squire came to sit for a drink. Fortunately for him, his presence was so unwelcome that the laughter died out as soon as he was seen._

 _He stared at the Imp's right-hand cunt, who had been holding not only court with his fellow soldiers, but also holding one of Littlefinger's whores—the foreign-sounding one—on his lap. She was stark naked, her hand on Bronn's chest as she eyed Sandor nervously. She had nothing to worry about, though. He'd already blown off steam with a far more beautiful girl up in her chambers._

 _No payment required, either._

 _If he really concentrated, he could still feel where Fallon's body had touched his. He wondered what she was doing at this moment. Was she still laying there, tangled in sheets, waiting for him to return from battle? Or was everything too good to be true, just as he always imagined?_

 _"Welcome, friends," Bronn interrupted his reverie._

 _All Sandor had to do was look at the nances sitting at the booth he desired to make them scuttle away. He had grabbed one of their mugs and the man was smart enough not to argue with him._

 _"This round's on me," Bronn continued._

 _Sandor glanced at him as Bronn dejectedly lowered his own mug. He watched Bronn lean into the whore's ear and loudly whisper._

 _"I don't think he likes me…"_

 _Sandor ignored him, taking a long gulp of the ale in his mug. He set it down and peered over at Bronn, who was lazily leaning back against the post he was sitting at._

 _"You think you're a hard man?" Sandor asked._

 _Bronn chuckled, then clicked his tongue as he sat up. "Oh, I_ know _it," he said, grinning at his laughing compatriots._

 _Sandor glanced around the room, his mouth closed tightly. He knew he shouldn't have left the songbird's bed._

 _"It's warm in here," Bronn said. "We've got_ beautiful _women," he stared at the whore on his lap, "and good brown ale. Plenty for everyone. And all you want…is to put one of us in the cold ground…with no women to keep us company."_

 _"Oh, there's women in the ground," Sandor narrowed his eyes at the man. "I put some there myself. So have you," he nodded knowingly at him._

 _Bronn's lips were parted, the tip of his tongue hiding inside the corner of his mouth. He shifted his eyes away from Sandor, over to the whore, then down at the ground._

 _"You like fucking…and drinking…and singing," Sandor told him as Bronn picked up his mug again to take another swig. "But killing, killing's the thing you love."_

 _Bronn nodded solemnly, still shifting his eyes._

 _"You're just like me," Sandor stated, getting up from the booth to drive his point home. "Only smaller."_

 _"And quicker, eh?" Bronn pointed a finger at him as Sandor came closer. He chuckled, looking around at his friends once more, only they didn't laugh with him this time._

 _"Your Lord Imp's going to miss you," Sandor threatened._

 _"Aye," Bronn sighed, putting his mug down again. He gave the whore two pats on the backside to get her off his leg and stood up. "I expect he will someday."_

 _Sandor almost cracked a smile as Bronn tried to square up to him. But before either one of them could strike, the bells started tolling in the distance. Everyone else started scrambling to get ready for the battle, but Sandor and Bronn stared at each other._

 _"One more drink before the war?" Bronn offered, nodding past Sandor's shoulder. "Shall we?"_

* * *

It was all I could do to roll my aching body out of bed and put my gray dress on. I had heard the bells from the open window in my chamber. My heart was pounding in my chest as I grasped the sill, staring out into the darkness.

I could hardly see a thing, only torchlight from below. I faintly heard the sound of orders being shouted before I heard the drums coming closer over the water, beating almost as loud as my heart.

Stannis was approaching. And my love was preparing to fight him.

* * *

 _Sandor stood behind Joffrey at the battlements, staring out at the dark bay. Stannis' ships were not yet visible on the moonlit horizon, but he could still hear the drums._

 _"Where's our fleet?" the queen's cunt of a cousin asked._

 _"On the way," the Imp responded._

 _"Why isn't it here now? They're coming." Joffrey demanded._

 _The Imp had no response this time._

 _"Hound, tell the Hand that his king has asked him a question," Joffrey ordered._

 _Sandor sighed, lamenting that this was actually something he had to do. "The king has asked you a question."_

 _"Ser Lancel, tell the Hound to tell the king that the Hand is_ extremely _busy," the Imp said, not looking away from the water._

 _"The Hand of the King would like me to tell_ you _to tell the_ king _tha—"_

 _"If I tell the Hound to cut you in half, he'll do it without a second thought," Joffrey snapped at his uncle._

 _"That would make me the quarterman," Tyrion finally glanced back at the king. "It just doesn't have the same ring to it."_

 _Sandor noticed a soldier grabbing a torch nearby._

 _"Cut me in half and I won't be able to give the signal," the Imp continued, as Sandor dodged the torch that came uncomfortably close to his face._

Definitely shouldn't have left the songbird's bed _, he thought after he had calmed down a bit._

 _"No signal, no plan. No plan and Stannis Baratheon sacks the city, takes the Iron Throne, puts your_ pinched _little head atop a gate somewhere," the Imp reminded his nephew. "It might be quite_ amusing _," he added, returning his gaze to the water, "except that_ my _head would be up there too. Never much liked my head, but I don't want to see it removed just yet."_

 _The drums were beating louder and louder, and finally the silhouette of the fleet was becoming more visible. Sandor, still a little shaken from the torch's proximity to his face, began thinking of his songbird, cooped up in her chamber. Safe. For now._

 _The thought of Stannis sacking the city, his men entering every room in the Red Keep to murder and ravage anyone in sight, ignited something inside of him. He would kill every damn one of Stannis' men himself if it meant keeping them away from Fallon._

 _"There they are," Joffrey pointed out the ships._

 _"Archers to their marks," the Imp ordered._

 _"ARCHERS, TO YOUR MARKS!" their commander hollered._

 _"ARCHERS!"_

 _Said archers ran to the battlements with their bows and arrows, awaiting their next orders._

 _"NOCK YOUR ARROWS!"_

 _"NOCK ARROWS!"_

 _"Hold fast," the Imp said._

 _"HOLD FAST!"_

 _"What are you_ doing _? We need to attack them!" Joffrey demanded._

 _"_ Hold fast _," Tyrion repeated impatiently, turning away._

 _"BOULDERS READY!" another commander shouted._

 _"HOLD FAST!"_

 _"There's only one ship. Where are the rest of them?" Joffrey noticed the sole boat leaving their harbor. "Where are the rest of them?!"_

 _The Imp had taken to not responding again._

 _An old man Sandor had never seen before hobbled over to where they stood. Sandor backed away when he saw the man was carrying another torch. His breath hitched a bit and he carefully eyed the flame as the Imp took the torch from the elder._

 _The Imp then threw the torch down from the battlements. Sandor's eyes darted towards the water, noting that something bright green had been draining out the stern of their one ship._

* * *

I watched as the flaming arrow shot across the darkened sky. My eyes widened when it hit the water, and suddenly green flames lit up the bay. All I could think of was Sandor when the fire blew the nearest ships to smithereens.

Was he frightened by the flames? Would he be too startled for battle? Would he make it out ali—?

I couldn't even finish the thought. Sandor was the bravest man I knew, the most fearsome warrior in all Seven Kingdoms. He would be safe. I knew it. I believed it with every fiber of my being.

But then why did I find myself praying to every god that I knew?

* * *

 _"Any man dies with a clean sword, I'll RAPE HIS FUCKING CORPSE!" Sandor shouted at the sortie he was leading from the Mud Gate._

 _He engaged Stannis' men indiscriminately, ignoring the screaming and grunting that surrounded him. Blood was spraying all around him and over him, especially when he gave a great swing of his sword, cutting a soldier in half at the waist._

 _The fray had managed to distract him from the explosion he had just witnessed on the bay, if only for a few moments. His blood was pumping in his veins, adrenaline coursing through him, helping him cut yet another man in half, this time diagonally from the shoulder._

 _A clearing had been made around him and he stepped forward to find a new person to kill. But then he saw the man running towards him, screaming, his body on fire. Sandor froze, his mouth hanging open. Terror had cast a chill over him._

 _The man came closer, raising his sword to deliver a blow. The thought hadn't even begun to cross Sandor's mind that he was about to die until long after the arrow came through the man's eye. The attacker fell to the ground, the flames coating his body still crackling._

 _Sandor stepped back and looked around to see who had saved him at the last possible second. His wide eyes finally found Bronn's as the smirking archer lowered his bow and gave him a nod. Sandor watched as Bronn whipped out a knife from behind his back and fended off two other soldiers who had taken a run at him. If Sandor hadn't been so stunned, he would have been impressed by the speed of the smaller man._

 _His breath was ragged as he looked at the fiery scene around him. Soldiers fighting each other, screaming in pain, fire lighting up the ground and the dead. His mind briefly flashed to the warm bed he had stepped out of just an hour before. He thought of the breathless, smiling woman who wouldn't allow him to leave until she had given him one last kiss for good luck. "_ You will come back to me _," she had said._

 _And without another thought, he turned around and walked back in through the Mud Gate as his men fell back._

 _"Someone bring me a drink," he breathed, ignoring the men running around and hollering orders at each other. A squire came up to him with a skin and he snatched it from him, taking a swig, then spitting it out. "Fuck the water. Bring me wine."_

 _Sandor thrust the skin back into the squire's hands, taking the jug that the squire offered. He imagined he wouldn't have struggled so much biting the lid off if he could have stopped his whole body from shaking. He guzzled the wine, lamenting the drops that missed his mouth and dribbled down his beard. Once the wine was almost half-empty, he started walking away from the bustling solders, his goal to find Fallon and to leave for good as soon as possible._

 _"Can I get you some iced milk?" Tyrion hissed down at him from the stairs he was standing on with Joffrey. "And a nice bowl of raspberries too?"_

 _"Eat shit, dwarf," Sandor retorted, not amused at all._

 _"You're on the wrong side of the wall," the Imp said in a tone of pure frustration._

 _"I lost half my men," Sandor told him, taking a deep breath. "The Blackwater's on fire."_

 _"Dog, I command you to get back out there and_ fight _!" Joffrey screeched._

 _Sandor looked at the ground, shaking his head._

 _"You're Kingsguard, Clegane," Tyrion reminded him, now trying to be motivational._

 _Sandor took another swig of wine._

 _"You must beat them back or they're going to take this city," the Imp continued. "Your_ king _'s city."_

 _Sandor sniffed. "Fuck the Kingsguard. Fuck the city." He looked straight at Joffrey. "Fuck the_ king _."_

* * *

"Please don't let him die. Please don't let him die. Please don't let him die," I whispered, trying to ignore the screams that echoed outside my window. I could only hope that Sandor was inflicting those screams and not the one screaming.

I almost screamed myself when the door to my chamber burst open. Half-expecting to see Stannis' soldiers coming in to do me harm, I leapt back from the window. But then I realized that it was Sandor.

His face and his armor were streaked with blood, but he looked unhurt. He took a swig from the jug of wine in his hands and then grabbed a bag that lay on my floor.

"Pack lightly," he barked at me, throwing it on my bed. "We're going."

"Where?" I spluttered, overwhelmed by all that was happening.

"Someplace that isn't burning."

I gulped, noticing something in his eyes—fear.

"I'm not going to die in this shit city," Sandor told me, taking yet another swig. "Meet me at the little bird's cage," he said, heading to the door. Then he looked over his shoulder at me. "Be careful."

As soon as my door slammed shut, I grabbed what few possessions I still had and packed them away in my bag, save for my thick, gray cloak, which I fastened around myself. I took one last look at the case I used to carry my lute in and swallowed the knot in my throat. Then I went to my bedside table to blow out my candle. But before I did this, I noticed something on the floor at my feet.

It was the candle that Sandor had given me to return to my chamber the night Thoros of Myr had used his Red magic on me. The grooved wax fit perfectly in my grasp, as I had fallen asleep clutching it that very night.

I closed my eyes, remembering how simple things were back then. My hair flowed down to my elbows. I knew Arya was safe and sound. Sansa was still naïve and insufferable. Ned was alive. And I was just realizing my true feelings for the man I love.

As I stood up, I tossed the warped candle into my bag and finally blew out the one on my bedside table.

Carrying the bag, I opened the door slightly, peeking out into the empty corridor. I opened the door enough to poke my head out and saw nothing but the candelabra on the walls. I listened for footsteps, but heard nothing, and ventured out of my chamber.

I looked over my shoulder every now and then, peering around every corner. It wasn't until I had descended the last step on a stairwell that I heard other people moving around. My breath hitched and my heart pounded in my chest as I pressed my body against a wall. I couldn't even begin to imagine what fate would behold me if I were caught by the wrong person.

"…got to be careful, m'love," muttered a familiar-sounding voice.

"I trust you to get us out of here safely, Elras," replied a sweet-sounding voice I had never heard before.

 _Elras_ , I thought, breathing a sigh of relief. I leaned forward and saw the man himself, looking around as he led a surprisingly beautiful woman by the hand. _Sadie?_ They both carried baskets of food, presumably taken from the kitchens where she worked.

" _Psst_!" I hissed, leaning forward even more, pulling my hood off my head.

The woman locked her big blue eyes on me. She looked positively frightened.

"Darling," she squeezed Elras' hand.

"Eh?" he whipped his head around and laid eyes on me. "Oi, Fallon! What're yeh doing?"

Glancing behind me once more, I hurried over to him. "I-I'm leaving."

"So're Sadie and me," Elras cocked his head at the blonde clinging onto him. "What say you come with us? We've more than enough food."

"I'm afraid I can't," I gave him a wistful smile. "Someone is waiting for me."

"'Oo?" Elras asked. "Sterlan? I 'aven't seen 'im much of late."

"Er, no," I grimaced, deciding against explaining what had happened to the drummer. "It's best we make haste."

"She's right," Sadie implored Elras. "We should go."

He nodded, putting his basket on the ground to reach out and grab my shoulder. "I wish yeh good fortune."

"As do I," I nodded at both him and Sadie. "Treat him well," I gave her a tight-lipped smile.

"I will," she replied. "Here," she added, thrusting her basket of food towards me. "Like he said, we've more than enough."

"Are you sure?" I furrowed my brow.

"We insist," Elras bent down to pick up his own. "A parting gift."

"I have nothing to offer you in return," I said.

"Seeing yer smile just once more is plenty," Elras winked at me.

"Thank you," I bowed my head at Sadie, taking the basket. "I'm quite glad you ended up being real."

Sadie gave Elras a confused look, but he just shook his head.

"Be careful out there, Fallon. There might be lions prowling," he said.

"I hope this isn't our last goodbye," I told him.

We both nodded once again to each other and I continued on my way to Sansa's chamber. I was lucky not to come across another person until I reached her door. My heart was still pounding, even when the door to her room opened and Sandor stepped out.

He seemed calm, despite all that was happening. He looked over his shoulder, into the chamber and waited for a moment. But when nothing happened, he closed the door quickly.

"Why did you have me meet you here?" I asked. "Is Sansa coming with us?"

"Quiet," he grumbled, finally looking down at me. "Stay behind me, songbird. And don't do anything stupid."

* * *

I couldn't take my eyes off the three heads staring lifelessly before us. A man and two women, whom I knew to be handmaidens, had been decapitated, their heads on spikes. They must have tried to escape.

"Come," Sandor said to me, grabbing my elbow as he made his way to the stables.

I struggled to keep up with him, considering how fast he walked, as well as how sore my body still was from earlier.

My hands were shaking as we entered the stable. Sandor pulled Shevaun out first and made quick work of saddling her for me. I packed my things into her saddlebags, looking over my shoulders, worried that guards were going to catch me and add my head to a new spike.

But then I looked at Sandor, who was preparing Stranger, and I remembered who the gods had privileged me to love. There was no possible way he would let me die.

I stroked Shevaun's nose, hoping this would calm my trembling fingers. She nickered and pressed her head to mine. I muttered my thanks to her.

"No time to waste, girl," Sandor told me. "We must go."

And so we rode into the night. Far away from the screaming and grunting and fighting. Far away from the war. Far away from the Lannisters. Far away from the Red Keep.

Just the two of us.

Together.


	29. Words

**He didn't speak** about the battle. In fact, he hardly spoke at all during the first days of our travels. He silently rode ahead of me, shrouded in his cloak to best hide his identity. Surely there would be a bounty on him if King Joffrey had prevailed. Perhaps even one on me if anyone cared to notice my absence.

I stifled a yawn and glanced up at the sky. The clouds above us had grown darker since the last time I looked. I wondered if I should interrupt Sandor's thoughts to tell him it was likely going to rain and decided against it for now. He likely knew already. And he'd know what to do.

Pulling the hood of my cloak over my head, I couldn't help but think that something profound had happened to him during the battle. No part of me imagined that he would desert a battle without a good reason for it.

There hadn't been enough time for me to truly process what was happening when he came to find me in my chamber. Everything had happened so fast. And the fear of being caught and punished still loomed over me.

I looked over my shoulder for what was probably the hundredth time that day. Paranoia had set in long ago and I feared that we could have been followed by someone trying to sneak up on us. If someone had, they were adept at hiding, as every time I looked I saw nothing but trees, bushes, and the hardly-traveled ground we were leaving behind.

Still, I felt safer as I urged Shevaun to catch up to Stranger.

Sandor gave me a sidelong glance when I came to his side. I caught his eye briefly and offered him a small smile I knew he wouldn't return. I stared at his profile, the burnt side of his face most visible to me.

"Should we find shelter?" I finally asked, my voice crackling from not using it for some time.

Sandor reclined his head briefly, his hood, which had been lazily resting on the middle of his scalp, sliding down to his broad shoulders.

"Not yet," he said gruffly.

 _Two words_ , I thought to myself. _I got two words out of him_.

He reached a hand back and thrust the hood over his head, this time covering his face from my view. I felt the bottom of my stomach fall out and began to worry that I had upset him in some way. I gulped and let Shevaun fall back, just enough so that Stranger was ahead by a neck.

The woods around us darkened even more over time. I could hardly see the hulking mass beside me by the time the rain started falling. The heavy droplets almost hurt when they fell on the hood of my cloak. I pulled mine down as far as I could without impairing my vision.

Aside me, Sandor directed Stranger to turn to the left. I followed him, feeling the rain fall harder and faster upon us. I wondered if we were in the Riverlands yet. I hoped we were. I imagined it would be safer for us there than it would be in the Crownlands, if only a little.

It wasn't very long until I could feel the unpleasant sensation of rain soaking through to my skin. I wanted to say something, but I was afraid I would only upset him more, so I kept mum. Instead, I remembered something that made the corners of my lips twitch upwards.

 _That day on the Kingsroad. Gods, I was so mad at him_ , I thought. _He'd just killed that boy…and I wasn't ready to forgive him—even after he'd saved me from the rabid dog. And then he kept trying to talk to me… Wish I had that problem now._

I continued thinking about that day on our trek to King's Landing. Arya and Sansa had been arguing in their carriage and I tried to defuse the situation by having lunch with my former charge.

 _Oh, Arya_ , I frowned. _Where are you? Are you safe? Are you dry?_

My attempt at a smile returned when I recalled Arya's behavior that day. She bitched and moaned about her sister's diplomatic response to King Robert's interrogation. That was back when the worst of our problems was a pet biting a prince.

I felt a tear brimming as I remembered what Arya had said to me before we parted ways after our luncheon.

 _"Fallon?" Arya asked, just as Sandor's eyes met mine._

 _"Yes, child," I averted my gaze to my charge._

 _"You told a lie," she said. "You do have a family."_

 _I cocked a brow._

 _"You have me."_

 _A tear pricked in my eye. It was rare that Arya said such sweet things like that. And whenever she did, I never took it lightly. Pressing my lips firmly together, I pulled Arya into my side and squeezed her tightly._

 _"I couldn't wish for a better sister, could I?" I stroked her hair and felt her arms wrap around my waist._

 _"Tell the king you don't want to be his musician," Arya said._

 _"If only I could," I sighed. "Fret not, though. You'll still have me around some of the time."_

 _"Until my thirteenth nameday. Then you're gone forever."_

 _"That's where you're wrong, my dear," I squeezed her again and pulled away, grabbing her shoulders. "I'm part of you and you are part of me, Arya Stark. I could be shipped off to Essos, never to return to Westeros, and you still wouldn't be rid of me. Why? Because, little lady, no matter what happens, I'm right here," I said, pointing to her heart._

I began to wonder if she remembered what I had said that day. I could only hope I was still in her heart. What I would give to hold the little lady again...to play with her hair…to see the mischievous glint in her big gray eyes…just one more time.

A great shiver took over my body, distracting me momentarily from my reverie. The downpour had increased and there was a chill in the air. I wanted to pull my cloak tighter to me, but it was sopping wet, just like the rest of me.

Instead, I watched as Sandor was leading us towards a main path, something he'd neglected to do on our journey so far. I wondered if perhaps tonight we would find an inn and sleep in an actual bed, rather than make camp in the woods. As beautiful as it was to sleep under the stars, my back was growing quite sore…

As I stared at the hood atop Sandor's head, it brought me back to my memories. The last time we had ridden together in the rain, he had worn his magnificent helm. I remembered being quite jealous, as I was sure it was doing a much better job of keeping him dry than my own cloak. I also remembered seething to myself because I had failed to prove him wrong.

He had told me so matter-of-factly that it was going to rain. And I was still so angry with him that I refused to believe him in that moment. He suggested I stay in the carriage with 'the wolf children' and I told him I wasn't made of flour. I told him I could handle a little rain. _If_ it even rained at all.

Which, of course, it did.

I felt him staring at me that night, even though I couldn't see his face. He had ridden alongside me just to rub it in. But he didn't say a word. And neither did I. I merely stewed.

And now, here we were again, soaking wet, beside each other on horses, not speaking. Only there was no humorous, ironic tension. And Sandor was the one stewing this time.

I could vaguely make out a small village coming up in the darkness. I felt a great amount of appreciation towards Sandor for finding it. I hoped that no one would recognize him here, as we both deserved a good night's sleep, and I doubted I could help very much if a fight were to break out…

* * *

I laid my cloak next to Sandor's on the rug before the crackling fire. I could feel his presence behind me and I turned over my shoulder to see him struggling taking his armor off. I stood up and approached him as soon as he was down to his shirt and trousers.

"Here," I murmured carefully, helping him peel his wet shirt from his back.

I placed my arms around Sandor's waist from behind after I tossed his shirt down on the floor. But I felt his body go rigid, as if he was unsure how to respond to my advance.

"Get in," he grumbled. "While the water's still warm."

 _Seven words._

"Mm," I frowned, reluctantly letting go of him.

I discarded my wet clothing and stepped around his large body. He refused to look at me as I clambered into the tub. He even turned away when I settled in, though I could have sworn I saw his mouth twitch when I hissed in reaction to the water's temperature.

Sandor crouched before the fire, staying a good distance away, I noticed. He had moved our cloaks to the side so that he could dry out his shirt. Then he reached for my dress behind him. I could see the damp gray fabric draped over his muscular thigh. He hesitated before placing it down finally, and I wondered what he was doing. Was he feeling the dress in his hands?

I turned my head before he stood up and set about removing his trousers. I reached over the side of the tub and found the bag Sandor had brought in with us when we left our horses in the stable. I supposed he had had the same idea of us bathing while we were at this inn, as the sack contained rags and cloths to dry with.

There was something else in the sack, though; something heavier at the bottom. I reached deeper and felt my fingernail stab into something soft. Pulling away, I touched it with the pads of my fingers and realized it was soap before even casting one glance.

I looked at the item in my hand and recognized the white and red marbled bar. My breath hitched when I lifted it to my nose and smelled the flowery scent.

"You kept this?" I breathed, not really sure if I had actually intended on addressing Sandor.

He paused before stepping into the tub himself. I hadn't even noticed that he had come away from the hearth just yet. Then the water rose to my chest as he sat down across from me.

I curled my legs into my chest to make room for his large body, leaning against the head of the tub as far as I could. Sandor's feet sat on either side of my hips, his knees sticking out above the water.

Without a word, I wet the soap and rubbed it between my hands to lather it up. I found myself feeling embarrassed to be sitting there, naked before Sandor. It was as if we were strangers, as if our night of passion had never happened, as if I had never gotten up the nerve to lay a kiss on his lips so many moons ago.

Sandor wouldn't even look at me.

My heart felt heavy. He wouldn't talk. He had pushed me away when I tried to hold him earlier. _Gods, I wouldn't be shocked if he slept on the floor_ , I thought to myself as I continued to scrub my body.

But then I felt his hand on mine, gentler than anticipated. My eyes locked onto his for much longer than they had in recent days. Perhaps I had been wrong in my assessment.

He pulled me closer until I was on my knees before him, the water sloshing around us. Sandor grabbed the soap from me and washed my arms, then my neck and chest. I wondered if he could feel how fast my heart was beating.

He reached around me to get my back. I could feel his body heat against my front. It was nothing compared to the flush in my cheeks, however. I stared into his eyes until the distance between our faces closed in and our lips met.

I felt the soap slide down my spine and hit the floor of the tub before Sandor's hands dug into the skin of my back. I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him back fervently. I tangled my fingers in his hair, holding his head as close to mine as I could until neither one of us could breathe. He rested his forehead against mine and I relocated one of my hands to his chest.

"We, er…shouldn't waste…the hot water," I said between breaths, a smile creeping on my face.

* * *

 _"…The sour cherries was all crushed up and ready…"_

 _"Shut up," the blacksmith hissed at the baking apprentice._

 _"Probably in the piecrust by now. In the oven. The nice, warm oven…"_

 _"Shut up," Arya Stark turned her head away from the dark sky to glare at the rotund boy standing behind her. "What did you bring?"_

 _"The cheese could be better," Hot Pie glanced dismissively at the bag hanging over his shoulder. "I did get some nice sausages."_

 _"What did 'e want us to do about those guards?" Gendry asked. He was crouched beside her, waiting for midnight as eagerly and anxiously as she was._

 _"He didn't say," Arya told him. "He just said, 'walk through the gates.'"_

 _"What about the guards?" Gendry asked, eyeing the Lannister soldier who stood very still on the scorched battlements across from them._

 _"He didn't say anything about the guards," Arya told him, annoyed that their conversation was going in circles._

 _"Oh, what, 'e left that bit out?" the blacksmith looked at her with wide eyes, his whispers having a tinge of frustrated sarcasm to them. "It's a pretty important part, don't you think?"_

 _"We have to trust him," Arya implored, her shaggy hair falling in her eyes._

 _"_ Trust _him? You trusted him to fight with us when you set 'im free and he ran," Gendry retorted._

 _"I want to go back to the kitchens," Hot Pie whimpered._

 _"Shut up," Arya turned to him once more. "Stay here if you're afraid." Then she picked herself up and started walking into the darkness._

 _"Arry, don't!" Gendry called after her before he and Hot Pie eventually followed._

 _Arya walked through the Lannister flags that made her blood boil. She would be lying if she said she wasn't tempted to take one of the torches down and burn them all to ashes. But then she looked up at one of the guards on the battlements—the one who was standing so still—and saw that he was being held up on a spike, as were all the others, their feet hanging inches from the ground._

 _Jaqen had done what she asked. And now she was free from Harrenhal. Free from Tywin Lannister. Free to find her family. What was left of it, anyway._

* * *

The rain had stopped by the time Sandor began roughly shaking my shoulder. My eyes snapped open, straining to see in the darkness of the room. He was standing before me, dressed in his armor.

"Up," he grunted.

"Are we leaving?" I asked dumbly, hoisting myself up on my hands and knees.

"Before the sun rises," he told me as he turned away.

The air was cold against my naked body when I crawled out from under the tattered blankets. I pulled out one of the other dresses I had packed the night we left. It was another commissioned by Cersei after my flogging, one that was Stark gray with white accents and had no back to it. My cloak was still damp when I pulled it over me and fastened it around my neck, but I couldn't risk not wearing it as we traveled out of the small town.

Following Sandor through the steely morning was a challenge, especially having just woken up. I stifled each yawn and rubbed my eyes every now and again. What I would give to curl back up in bed under Sandor's arm…

Back off the beaten path, I urged Shevaun forward and rode beside my burned companion. He was still reluctant to make eye contact with me for too long. He had gone out his way to show his love for me at the inn last night, but was acting cold and distant again.

"Is everything alright?" I asked, having finally gotten the courage up.

Sandor glanced at me, only he didn't say anything.

"You've hardly talked about the battle," I added. "You've hardly talked at all."

His body went rigid at the mention of the skirmish. The way he clenched his jaw made me wonder how much he was holding back. I could tell if I was any other person, he would've told me to fuck off.

"'Snothing to talk about," he finally told me.

I knew he was lying.

"You can tell me anything, my love," I pressed as gently as could be.

His reins creaked as his strong hands squeezed them and I knew I was upsetting him. I felt guilty for not stopping earlier.

"Forgive me," I whispered. "I shouldn't have…"

Sandor hesitated before taking a deep breath. He then reached into his cloak and pulled out his wineskin and took a hefty gulp. I was about to pull Shevaun back to give him more space when he thrust the skin out towards me.

I felt a knot in my throat as I looked at him. His eyes were focused ahead of him, but I could still see the pain on his face. But instead of trying to ask him about it, I took the skin and sipped from it. The wine was tart on my tongue and I remembered that he didn't particularly enjoy sweet things.

 _No wonder he'll hardly speak to me these days_ , I thought darkly.

"Thank you," I said, handing him the wineskin back.

Sandor grunted, his warm fingers brushing against mine for a moment. He took another large gulp before capping the skin and putting it away.

There was a thick silence between us. A heavy pressure sat on my chest and I started to worry that he was falling out of love with me.

 _Gods, Fallon, you are so dramatic_ , a voice in the back of my head scoffed. _Don't you remember last night? You could hardly keep your hands off each other. He held you until the morning._

I pursed my lips in a vain attempt to stop my smile from appearing. I felt my insides flutter at the memories of what happened once we had left the bathtub.

 _Lest you forget he took_ you _from King's Landing. He left the battle for whatever reasons…and he risked everything to find_ you, the voice reminded me.

The pressure started to lift from my chest and I heaved a great sigh, allowing the smile to come to fruition on my face. The thick silence seemed to thin just as the clouds above us seemed to spread apart and allow the sun to shine upon us through the trees.

"The water…was on fire," Sandor said after a long moment.

"Sorry?" I whipped my head around.

"The Imp," he sighed, glancing at me. "He set the Blackwater ablaze."

"I, er, I saw," I murmured. "It was green."

"Wildfire."

"It must have been terrifying," I shook my head slowly. "I mean, it was terrifying enough from the window of my chamber. I-I can't even begin to imagine what it must have been like from the battlefield."

Sandor's body went rigid again.

"Oh, for the gods' sake, forgive me for babbling, my love," I grimaced. It figured the one time he opens up, I'd ruin it…

Sandor took another deep breath and held his hand up to stop my guilt. "Everything was going fine until… There was man…running at me…on fire."

I gulped. All I wanted was to throw my arms around him and comfort him. As much as I wanted him to talk to me, it was hard to see him like this.

"I froze," he told me. "And the Imp's sellsword's the only reason I'm still alive. I owe that cocky bastard my life."

 _Remind me to thank that_ cocky bastard _if I ever see him again_ , I thought to myself.

"Once I got my senses back, I knew," Sandor glanced at me once more. "Knew I 'ad to find you. And leave."

"Thank you," I gave him a tight-lipped smile.

"Tried to get the little bird to come too," he said. "Told her I'd bring her to Winterfell."

"But she said no," I nodded.

"But she said no," Sandor echoed. He looked up to the sky for a moment before looking down at Stranger's mane. "Do you think me a coward, girl?

Without thinking, I reached my hand out and grazed his thigh with my fingertips. His leg tensed up for a second and his eyes snapped to me.

"I think you're the bravest man I know," I told him honestly.

Sandor looked away, his lips tightly together. He looked down, as if he was embarrassed, then back up at the sky. Finally, he turned to me once more, the corner of his lips curled the slightest bit upward. He let go of his reins with one hand and briefly squeezed mine.

 _Progress_ , I grinned to myself. _I've lost count of how many words he spoke._

* * *

 **I am the *Jean-Ralphio voice* wo-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-orst. I meant to finish this so much longer ago, but my summer job was super draining and it was hard to get a creative spark. But I'm back, babies. I love this story with all of my heart and there's no way I would abandon it forever. Love you guys and thank you for always understanding when life gets in the way.**


	30. Lost Friends

**_"Can't stop wond'rin'_** _how that man did it. All those guards. Killed. Just like that."_

 _Arya Stark did her best to ignore Hot Pie's musings. He could go on for some time about anything and everything. Sometimes she would fantasize about ripping out his tongue to save her ears some trouble. But ultimately, she put up with his nonsense because he was her friend, and one of the scant few she had left._

 _"I mean, somebody must have seen something. Or heard a scream," Hot Pie continued. "Hold on. I didn't hear a scream. Did anyone else hear a scream?"_

 _"If you don't shut it,_ I'm _going to scream," Gendry mumbled just ahead of her._

 _Arya allowed herself to grin a little. Gendry was her other friend. Tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed, and, as she remembered from watching him at work, very muscular. He was a bastard, and a highly sought-out bastard at that. The gold cloaks had tracked them down twice as they travelled the Kingsroad up to the Wall, each time looking for Gendry. The first time Yoren had refused to give him over, the second time Arya had told them that Lommy had been the bastard._

 _Lommy had been a friend of hers as well. She had met him and Hot Pie before they left King's Landing. Neither one had been very nice to her at first, but they eventually grew to respect each other in their own way. Then Polliver stole her Needle and killed the wounded Lommy with it right before her eyes._

 _Yoren had also been her friend. He knew her father. In fact, her father instructed Yoren to help her escape King's Landing. The recruiter from the Night's Watch had grabbed her to make sure she didn't see her father's execution. He'd cut her hair and told her to pretend to be a boy. And then, the night he and Lommy died, he'd told her how he avenged his brother's murder—how all he did was think about the killer before falling asleep._

 _"How could just_ one _man do all that himself?" Hot Pie breathed. "Who is he, anyway?"_

 _"Jaqen H'ghar," Arya answered._

 _Was Jaqen her friend? Sure, he had been the only kind prisoner of the three in the cart. He hadn't threatened to rape her with a stick. He hadn't gnashed his sharp teeth at her. He had asked her for a drink. And then, when the gold cloaks attacked and set their camp on fire, he had pleaded with her to unlock their cage, which she did._

 _When they arrived at Harrenhal, Jaqen wore Lannister armor, but had offered her three lives for the lives she saved. Though she had honored the arrangement at first, taking two separate lives when she needed to, she eventually had to negotiate with him to maneuver escaping Harrenhal._

 _She was fascinated by the mysterious assassin, yes. But again, was Jaqen her friend?_

He's no Fallon, that's for sure _, a voice in the back of her mind said._

 _Arya felt tears pricking at her eyes just at the thought of her old handmaiden. She could still remember the smell of her long brown hair. She could still remember her sweet voice and her beautiful music._

 _Fallon had been Arya's greatest friend for as long as she could remember. Fallon had let Arya use curse words around her. Fallon wasn't stuffy or serious. She was kind and friendly and had a sense of humor. Fallon understood Arya better than anyone, perhaps even better than Jon did._

 _Arya felt a pang in her chest when she remembered the last time she had even seen Fallon. Arya had been packing to return home to Winterfell and Fallon came into her chamber. But instead of helping Arya pack, Fallon tearfully said goodbye, as she had been sworn to the Crown completely. Arya was devastated, and so was Fallon._

 _She began to wonder what had happened to Fallon. Had she even survived that day when the guards turned against her family?_

 _Arya rubbed at her eyes before the tears started to fall. She had to distract herself from thinking of Fallon's head on a spike. So she started reciting her list in her head._

Joffrey. Cersei. Tywin Lannister. Ilyn Payne. The Hound.

 _The Hound. The gigantic man who had killed Mycah. And Fallon had befriended him. She had tried to convince Arya several times that the Hound had only done what was asked of him. But Arya wouldn't listen. There was no way Arya could ever forgive him for what he did._

 _But Fallon could. Fallon wasn't like her in that respect. Fallon could always see the good in people. Fallon was driven by love, not hate._

 _Arya rubbed at her eyes once again. She was glad Gendry was in front of her so he couldn't see. She was also glad that Hot Pie was behind her and so unsure of himself that he kept his eyes on the ground in front of them._

 _Looking up, Arya noticed a figure standing on a cliff just ahead of them. He was staring down at them, dressed in Lannister armor, his dark red and white hair hanging down to his chin._

 _Hot Pie and Gendry noticed Jaqen as well. All three of them stumbled as they stared up at him, but they kept walking._

 _"How did he find us?" Hot Pie asked._

 _Arya didn't answer. She stepped out in front of Gendry, hoping to find a way to climb up the cliff to speak to Jaqen. But he had disappeared when she came to the other side of the cliff._

 _Suddenly, she heard a clanking sound come from behind her. Arya turned and saw him standing there, staring at her with his steely gray eyes._

 _"What are you doing here?" she asked as he looked past his shoulder._

 _"Waiting for you," he replied in his Lorathi accent._

 _"How did you know we'd come this way?" she demanded._

 _"After all the things you have seen," he said as he walked closer to her, his breath visible in the cold air, "this is your question?"_

 _The two walked side by side along the path. Jaqen looked down at her, challenging her to ask a better question._

 _"How did you kill those guards?" she asked._

 _Jaqen sighed and stopped walking. Arya blocked him off by standing in front of him._

 _"Was it hard?"_

 _"No harder than taking a new name, if you know the way," he told her._

 _"Show me how," Arya implored. "I want to be able to do it too."_

 _"If you would learn, you must come with me," Jaqen told her._

 _"Where?"_

 _"Far and away," he glanced past her. "Across the Narrow Sea to Braavos."_

 _"My dancing master was from Braavos," Arya smiled a bit and stepped closer to Jaqen._

 _Syrio Forel. Another lost friend._

 _Jaqen forced a smile back and looked above her. "To be a dancing master is a special thing, but…" he looked back down at her, "to be a Faceless Man… That is something else entirely."_

 _Arya furrowed her brow at him._

 _"A girl has many names on her lips. Joffrey, Cersei, Tywin Lannister, Ilyn Payne, the Hound… Names to offer up to the Red God. She could offer them all. One by one."_

 _Arya sighed. "I want to … But I can't."_

 _Jaqen's jaw twitched._

 _"I need to find my brother and mother," she told him. Then she remembered Sansa, pulling a face as she added, "And my sister. I need to find her too."_

 _Arya blinked hard, knowing that this was a difficult choice. But she always knew that family came first. As her father used to say,_ the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives _._

 _"Then we must part," Jaqen sighed, reaching into his belt. "A man has duties as well." He brandished a coin to Arya. "Here."_

 _"What is it?" she asked._

 _"A coin of great value," Jaqen told her, taking one last glance at it before holding it closer to her between his index and middle fingers._

 _"Could it buy a horse?" Arya asked after snatching it. She held it with two hands, trying to see its worth. But it wasn't a Dragon, a Stag, or even a Penny._

 _"It is not meant for the buying of horses," he said._

 _"Then what good is it?" she asked._

 _"If the day comes when you must find me again, just give that coin to any man from Braavos and say these words to him—'_ Valar Morghulis _'."_

 _"_ Valar Morghulis _," Arya echoed._

 _He smiled wistfully at her and then slowly passed by her. Arya turned after him._

 _"Please don't go, Jaqen," she said._

 _He stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. "Jaqen is dead," he said. "Say it again._ Valar Morghulis _."_

 _"_ Valar Morghulis _," Arya obliged._

 _He gave her a half-smile and said, "Good."_

 _Then he turned away from her and seemed to grab his face before turning back, only this time his face was completely different, like he was wearing a mask or something. And his hair was dark brown instead of red and white._

 _"Farewell, Arya Stark," he said in his same whispery, accented voice._

 _She watched as he sauntered away and wondered if she'd ever see him again. Perhaps he was a friend after all._

* * *

I dipped the back of my head into the water and ran my hands through my hair. It felt soft and smooth and long again. Of course, it wasn't nearly as long as it had been before Meryn Trant chopped it, but it had grown more in the weeks since we had escaped the Red Keep. The shortest bits hung past my shoulders when I stood up.

"Why is it that I always find you in water?"

I whipped around, wrapping my arms around my chest. There stood Sandor, drinking from his wineskin. Knowing it was him, I relaxed and lowered myself back into the water below my neck.

"You say that like I didn't tell you I was going to bathe," I smirked back at him.

"Did I scare yeh?" he asked, leaning against a boulder near the edge of the water.

"Only a little," I shrugged. "Would you do me a favor and grab my cloak?"

"Getting out so soon?"

"It's almost dark. I'm already cold."

Sandor pushed himself off the rock and ambled over to my cloak, which lay in a pile with my dress and shoes. He picked it up and laid it over his shoulder, returning to his perch against the boulder as I straightened up again and started walking out of the water.

"'Sno reason to cover up," he said, a small grin on his face. "'Snothing I haven't seen already."

"My apologies for being modest," I rolled my eyes playfully, keeping my arms around my chest.

"'Sno one here, but you and me," Sandor murmured as I hurried out of the water as best I could on the rocky shore. He gripped his wineskin with his teeth and held out my cloak sideways, wrapping me in it like a strapless dress when I reached him.

"You're in a good mood," I pointed out, shivering in the cold air.

"Aye," he warbled through the skin.

I threw my arms around him, nestling in for more warmth. I felt him pull me in closer, rubbing at my back. But as comfortable as I was in his arms, I couldn't help but recognize why he was behaving like this.

"You're drunk," I mumbled into his chest.

Sandor let go of me with one hand and pulled his wineskin out of his mouth.

"Aye."

"You should be more careful with that," I gestured to the skin. "What if someone…finds us and you're not…"

"On my worst day, I could gut a score of men with one blow," he assured me gruffly, kneading his fingers into my back.

"I love you, Sandor, but I worry," I said, laying my head on his shoulder. "We've been so lucky in the past weeks since we've left the castle. We can't become complacent."

Sandor didn't say anything for a while, but I felt him take a deep breath. Then he patted my bottom, indicating he was going to stand up. He let go of me and watched me step backwards before getting up and took one last swig of his wine.

"Best get dressed," he told me. "'Sgetting dark. And yeh need to start the fire."

I swallowed hard as I watched him retreat back into the trees in the direction of our camp. He had been in rare, affectionate form and I had to go and ruin it.

But as I wrung my hair out and slipped back into my dress, I couldn't help thinking that I was right. He had been drinking a lot more as we got further and further away from King's Landing. He could make all of the grandiose claims he wanted, but I had a sinking feeling that something awful might happen and he'd be too drunk to properly deal with it.


	31. Alayne's Daughter

**"Get us some** food," Sandor said as he grabbed my waist to help me down from Shevaun. "I'll get us a room."

"Alright," I nodded, taking a sack from one of my saddlebags.

"Here," he pulled out his small purse and poured out a small pile of coins into my hand.

"Thank you." Pocketing the coins in my cloak, I stepped out of the stable and headed towards the village in search of a market.

I felt several pairs of eyes watching me as I went on my way. Nosy villagers peered at me as I walked past, and I hoped to the gods that none of them were spies for the Crown. However, I kept my head high and continued on my way to the market. With my hair braided and tied in a bun at the back of my head and a new dress under my cloak, a charcoal gray gown bought two villages ago, I felt more confident about hiding in plain sight.

Unfortunately, there wasn't much could be done to hide Sandor.

After buying as much food as I could, I turned back to head for the inn we were going to stay at. I noticed an older woman wearing all black sitting outside of a small house. She looked dazed, as if she wasn't aware of anything going on around her.

Ahead of me, two young women were walking together, speaking to each other in hushed voices. As we crossed paths, I noticed they were looking at the same old woman I had glanced at. I overheard a brief snippet of their conversation.

"—first I've seen of Alayne since they found the body."

"Poor dear. Did you hear that they only knew it was her daughter because of the—?"

I gulped. Something awful must have happened to that woman's daughter. No wonder she was dressed all in black.

When I returned to the stable, I put the sack of food in one of Shevaun's saddlebags, grabbing two carrots. I exercised some restraint by only eating one and giving the other to my trusted horse. I considered giving one to Stranger as well, but I was nervous he would try to bite me, as he only respected Sandor.

"S'cuse me?"

I turned and found a stable boy, not much older than fourteen, staring at me with wide eyes. "Yes?"

"You're the one with the…" he gulped, "the big man, right?"

"I am," I nodded. I wondered if this boy knew who exactly the _big man_ was. "Did you happen to see where he went?"

"Looked like he was on his way to the tavern when he left."

"Many thanks," I nodded to him.

 _Of course_ , I thought as I walked out of the stable and headed for the tavern on the other side of the inn. _It's hardly dusk and he's already drinking his gold away._

It wasn't hard to find Sandor in the dimly lit tavern. Though he sat in a corner, he was a head taller than nearly everyone there, and his armor didn't help disguise him either. He was sitting with his head reclined back, holding one tankard to his lips while another sat on the table before him. I felt my chest get tighter and tighter as the anger built up inside of me. Something told me there had been many more tankards while I had been to the market too.

I felt sick to my stomach, but I wasn't sure if it was the anger or my hunger.

The tavern was buzzing with chatter. The people who weren't staring at Sandor and whispering fearfully were looking at me, just as the villagers near the market did. I gave some of them a tight-lipped smile, walking straight past everyone to get to the man in the corner.

By the time I had reached the table, he had placed the empty tankard down and wrapped his hand around the other one, picking it up and taking a great swig from it. He looked up as I grabbed the chair opposite him and pulled it out.

"There's food in Shevaun's saddlebag. If we're smart, it should last us awhile," I said as I draped my cloak over the back of the seat before plopping down.

"Good," Sandor nodded and put the half-empty tankard back on the table.

"I don't suppose that was for me," I glanced at the drink and folded my arms across my chest.

Sandor stared down his nose at me. He reluctantly pushed the cup closer to me, looking annoyed.

"I don't want it," I said coldly, ignoring the ale before me.

"Then what _do_ yeh want?" he slurred, his eyes narrowed at me.

"Nothing."

"I don't have time for this shit," he snarled. "What do yeh want from me?"

"I want you to stop drinking so much," I seethed, unable to hold my emotions back any longer.

He went rigid, but his eyes were just as angry as mine.

"You _deserted_ the _Lannister army_ ," I hissed, leaning forward. "Can you even imagine how high the bounty on your head is? And yet all you do is sit and drink! What if somebody recognizes you? What if they have a go at you? What if you're _too_ _drunk_?"

"Enough, girl," Sandor growled. He snatched the tankard back and finished it off. "All I've ever done is protect you. Been saving yer thick head since I've known yeh. Yeh wouldn't last a _day_ without me."

His words stung. I swallowed hard and bit back my tears.

"I can't believe you right now," I shook my head at him and stood up to grab my cloak.

"Girl!" he roared after me as I stormed out of the tavern.

The patrons grew silent. All eyes were on me, but I refused to meet any on my way to the door. Once outside, I wrapped my cloak around me and allowed myself to cry. I sat down on the front step, hiding my face in my hands.

"Something wrong, love?"

I wiped at my tears and looked up. A man around my age was standing not far from where I sat. His mousy brown hair was cropped closely to his head. He had pale skin and cold blue eyes. He was wearing a dark brown cloak over his shirt and trousers.

I shook my head. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," he said, coming closer.

"It's nothing," I mumbled.

"Nothing a drink won't fix, love," he offered me a smile, outstretching his arm to me.

"It's quite alright," I stared down at his hand, noticing a red wine stain birthmark that covered some of his hand, extending across his wrist to his forearm.

"I insist," the man continued.

Though his voice was kind, I could see something in his eyes, something unsettling. My chest felt heavy as I stood up, trying to plan my escape. Mostly for my own safety, but also to prove to Sandor that I wasn't as thick as he always said I was.

 _Alright, Fallon. Run back inside the tavern. Find Sandor._

The man across from me glanced behind me and nodded subtly, but instead of trying to analyze why he was doing that, I made for the door. Only I couldn't reach it because a strong pair of arms wrapped themselves around my waist from behind and pulled me back into someone's chest. I tried to scream, but another hand had reached up to cover my mouth.

"You make one noise and we gut you," Wine Stain hissed, his voice finally matching the look in his eyes. He reached behind his back and pulled out a knife, holding it up to my neck.

Panic set in me. Judging by the hand on my mouth, there were at least three people surrounding me. There was no way I would ever stand a chance against these men if I tried to fight back. I found myself praying that Sandor would open the tavern door and rip these men to shreds.

But the door stayed motionless as the hand on my mouth was replaced by a cloth gag. No man came in or out of the building as I was dragged away.

* * *

 _Sandor Clegane stewed in the corner of that tavern for a long time. He had lost count of the ale he had drank, an outcome he was rather satisfied with. He couldn't wait to show her how well he could handle himself having drank so much._

 _Gods, that made him angry when she spoke to him the way she did. As if_ she _had never made a stupid decision in her life. Miss I-Won't-Lie-To-Joffrey-To-Save-My-Own-Skin. Miss I-Won't-Scream-While-Getting-Flogged._

 _She'd apologize to him, though. He knew she would. He knew exactly how everything would play out._

 _He would find her either outside or in the stables, petting her horse as she didn't know where their room was, nor did she have the key. She would silently follow him, red-faced and embarrassed, and sleep on the far edge of their bed. The next morning, she still wouldn't talk to him. It would be her turn to stew this time. And finally, by nightfall, she would apologize for ever doubting him and she would crawl into his arms, thanking him for keeping her safe all this time. He would tell her for the umpteenth time to stop being an idiot and she would cry and he would let her kiss him and eventually they would fuck and she would love him back again._

 _"Did you hear about Alayne's daughter?" a man at the nearest table said to his compatriot._

 _Sandor couldn't help but listen in. Anything to get his mind off of this stupid fucking argument. He raised yet another tankard to his lips and drank._

 _"I haven't heard the whole story," the other man said. "Saw Alayne today, though. Dressed all in black."_

 _"Her daughter was taken about a fortnight ago. They found her body tied to a tree. Dress was all in bloody tatters and her face was…" the first man shivered. "They only knew it was her because of the necklace. Alayne had given it to her. Said the necklace was passed on from generations."_

 _"What happened to the girl?"_

 _"They don't quite know, but it was horrible. Heard that besides the ropes binding her to the tree, no one could tell what was done by a person and what could've been done by that pack of wolves."_

 _"Gods…"_

 _"I won't let my daughter leave the house after dark. Can't trust no one these days."_

 _"Not even the wolves?" the second man said with a dark sense of humor._

 _"_ Especially _not the wolves. Did you hear what those fuckers did to Kelvan's crops?"_

 _Sandor finished his last tankard and stood up to leave. He'd had enough of eavesdropping on the two local men._

 _He felt a little unsteady on his feet. Perhaps he_ had _drank a bit more than he should have. Not that he would tell Fallon he was thinking that… He could still defend himself if he needed to. Not that he thought he_ would _have to. All the people in the establishment were dead terrified of him, whether they'd heard of him or not. He could see it in their eyes, even through the blur of his inebriation._

 _Sandor loped outside of the tavern, feeling the cool wind nipping at his face. He looked around, regardless of how dizzy it made him feel. He couldn't see the songbird anywhere, so around the inn to the stable he went. But she wasn't there either. Sandor walked up and down, peering into every stall just in case, but she was nowhere to be found._

She's not nearly as stupid as you say she is _, a voice in the back of his head reminded him and he sighed._ She's likely asked the innkeeper what room you got _._

 _Sandor clumsily left the stable and made for the inn. Ignoring the looks he was getting from inside, he went up the stairs until he found the room he'd paid for. He dug out his key and unlocked the door, expecting to see a Fallon-sized lump at the edge of the bed. She'd stir, then pretend to be sleeping so he wouldn't talk to her. Or maybe he'd find her at the window, staring out at the stars._

 _But when Sandor turned the doorknob and entered the dark room, there were no lumps under the blankets on the bed. There were no women standing pensively at the window either. The room hadn't been touched since the innkeeper took him up there hours earlier. Sandor checked every nook and cranny in the room, even going so far as to rip off all the blankets and look under the bed._

 _He felt his heart pounding in his chest when he stood up. Fallon wasn't there. Fallon wasn't anywhere. Then he sobered completely when he heard the sound of a wolf howling in the distance._


	32. Wine Stains and Wolves

**"What a pretty** gray dress," Wine Stain cooed, running his hands over the hem of my skirts. "Reminds me of the Starks. Speakin' of, d'yeh hear about the wedding, love?"

My jaw was quivering in fear as one of the men crouched behind me, binding me to a tree with a long rope. My hands were tied together in my lap and the gag was still in my mouth. I stared at Wine Stain with wide eyes.

"He asked you a question," the third man grunted between gulps from his ale horn. He was seated by a roaring fire, scratching at his patchy black beard.

I gulped and looked back at Wine Stain. He was smirking at me, still playing with my skirt while he waited for me to answer him. All I could muster was a shake of my head.

"No? Blimey, that's all the whole countryside's been gossiping about these days," Wine Stain told me, feigning affability. "The eldest Stark boy was supposed to be marrying one of Walder Frey's girls."

" ' _Girls'_ , if yeh can even call 'em that," Ale Horn snickered.

"I heard he only agreed to it to cross the Twins," said the man who had tied me to the tree. He stood up and came by the fire. I could see that he was pale and bald. "But then he married some battlefield healer instead. Frey's up in arms about it."

"Hope that healer was worth it. I wouldn't want to break a vow with Walder Frey. Though I _would_ be tempted if she looked like this one," Wine Stain leered at me.

He pulled out his knife yet again and I instinctively ducked back against the tree, curling my knees to my chest.

"Come now, love," Wine Stain crooned, slowly dipping his free hand under my skirt. He grabbed the rope that tied my ankles together and pulled my feet back near him. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

Pale Man chuckled from where he was warming himself by the fire. He and Ale Horn exchanged ominous glances across the flames. If I hadn't already known there was plenty to be afraid of, this would have confirmed it.

"Such a pretty dress…" Wine Stain murmured to himself. He took the knife and cut into the hem of the skirt, tearing out a swatch the size of the palm of his hand. He held it up in front of his face and smirked. Then he held it out behind him. "Take this. Put it with the other one." He smirked down at me and loudly whispered, "Little something to remember you by."

"'Zis mean yeh're takin' her first?" Ale Horn asked, stepping forward to grab the swatch.

"Aye," Wine Stain said over his shoulder.

"You had the last one first too," Pale Man pointed out. "Give one of us a turn, eh?"

"I _saw_ her first," Wine Stain retorted.

" _I'm_ the one who grabbed her," Ale Horn added. "She would've run off if it weren't for me."

"Fuck off," Wine Stain said, reaching forward to come closer to my face.

My heart was pounding in my chest as I watched him raise up the knife. I squeezed my eyes shut, terrified of what was about to happen. My stomach started to roil inside of me. I tried to imagine Sandor saving me, or perhaps even Benjen, as he had already saved me from a similar situation once.

"There we go…" Wine Stain muttered, pressing the knife to my cheek.

I gasped at the feeling of the blade but was surprised when he didn't cut me. He merely slid the knife under the gag that had been tied around my head and sawed into the cloth. I opened my eyes just as he pulled it out of my mouth and threw it on the ground beside me.

"Don't even bother screaming, girl," he told me as he gripped my chin with his free hand. "No one can hear you out here."

I didn't doubt him. They had pulled me into the edge of the forest and tied my limbs together. Ale Horn had thrown me over his shoulder and they walked deep into the woods. It was pitch black outside by the time they had decided to stop.

Dark thoughts started to penetrate my mind. I wondered if Sandor had noticed that I was missing yet. Would he even care after our blow-up? Or would he think this was yet another lesson I would have to learn the hard way?

 _No. He loves me_ , I reminded myself. _He will come back to me._

"Get on with it," Ale Horn growled. "Or I'll take her right now."

"Fuck off," Wine Stain repeated himself over his shoulder. Then he turned back to me and forced his lips upon mine. When I didn't respond much to his advance, he pulled back, his hand still on my chin, and slammed the back of my head against the tree.

I winced in pain and saw double for a moment. My stomach continued to churn and I worried something might work its way up my throat.

Wine Stain then reached behind him once more, this time clutching at what remained of my skirts and lifting them to my knees. He glared down at me, no longer keeping up his charade of kindness.

"Is it just me or does she look green?" Pale Man muttered loud enough for me to hear him.

"He might want to back away," Ale Horn replied.

Then suddenly I felt my body trying to keel over against the ropes. I opened my mouth and out spewed what little food I'd had to eat that day.

"UGH!" Wine Stain jumped back, landing on his haunches. He stared in shock at the mess on his shirt. "You fucking _cunt_!" he hissed, winding his hand back and slapping me across the face with his marked hand.

I retched once more and threw up over my shoulder, ignoring the stinging pain on my cheek in favor of the storm inside my stomach.

"Fuck this!" Wine Stain shouted as he struggled to his feet. He tried to brush off my sick with his sleeves. "She's not fucking worth it!"

"What should we do, then?" Pale Man cast a glance at my shaking body.

"Slit her throat?" Ale Horn suggested.

I gasped, tears welling up in my eyes. Was I really about to die in these woods, tied to a tree, covered in my own vomit, without seeing Sandor one more time? Were our last words to each other going to be words of such anger?

"Fuck that," Winestain snarled, shoving past his cohorts. "Leave her for the wolves."

Ale Horn's lips curled into a nasty smirk. He looked at me and bowed his head to me, then started laughing.

"We'll find another one," he rasped, pulling out a skin of water from his belt. He opened the lid and poured it out to extinguish the fire. Then I heard his voice in the darkness above the sizzling embers. "There's always more…"

I heard the three men disappear into the woods and let my tears fall. They didn't kill me, no. They didn't rape me either. But they left me tied to a tree in the middle of the forest. If no one could find me…if I couldn't untie myself… I feared for what horrible death was destined for me. I had no food. I had no weapons. If I wasn't mauled by wild animals, I would be sure to starve to death.

I started to wriggle, hoping to loosen the ropes around my body. Nothing budged. My wrists and ankles were left chafed and my stomach only hurt worse. My shoulders shook as my tears overtook me. There was no one coming for me. For the longest time, I heard nothing but my own sniveling. No footsteps. No clanking armor. But then I heard something else, something that terrified me more than anything else.

The howl of a wolf.

* * *

 _Sandor Clegane stormed outside of the inn and grabbed the nearest man he saw as he walked away from the inn. He took him by the scruff of his neck and slammed him against the wall of the inn._

 _"WHERE IS SHE?" Sandor roared at the terrified man._

 _"Wh-Where is_ who _?" the middle-aged man squeaked._

 _"THE GIRL!_ MY _GIRL!" Sandor sputtered._

 _"I don't know what you're talking about!" the man told him._

 _Suddenly, in the distance, there was the sound of screaming coming from the nearby woods. Sandor looked over his shoulder in the darkness, his eyes searching for movement coming from the shadows not illuminated by the torches outside of the inn. He dropped the man and let him fall to the ground._

 _"WOOOOOOOLVES!" another man's voice hollered, coming closer._

 _Sandor could now make out two young men stumbling out from the trees. Their clothes were rumpled and torn and they were out of breath. One was bald, the other had a poor attempt at a beard._

 _"We were attacked!" the bald one shouted, grabbing at a stitch in his side. His compatriot sat down on the ground, trying to catch his breath._

 _Sandor watched as several people ran around, some going inside, some pulling out weapons and running for the woods, but they were the last thing on his mind. He started to head for the stable so he could climb on Stranger and ride into the trees._

 _But then he heard the bearded one say something that made him absolutely see red._

 _"They're sure to get that bitch now," he leered, pulling out something small and gray._

 _Sandor strode toward them. And the closer he got, the more he recognized what it was in his hand. That was part of Fallon's dress._

 _"Where is she?" Sandor hissed at the two men, gripping his sword._

 _"Fuck's it matter to you?" the bearded one got to his feet and started to square up to Sandor. "She yer whore and yeh let her get away?"_

 _Sandor quickly pulled out his sword and both men stumbled backwards, their hands up protectively._

 _"The wolves've gotten her by now!" the bald man yelped. "She's dead!"_

 _Sandor didn't much remember what happened next. Only that he ended up covered in blood. The piece of fabric was in his palm. He clenched it tightly. And he started walking._

* * *

There was something cold and wet on my face. Whatever it was, it brushed against my nose and cheek. I could hear a loud snuffling before me and I opened my eyes in the dark of the early morning. Somehow, I had dozed off against the tree. And now there was a large wolf sniffing at my chin.

 _There was a large wolf sniffing at my chin._

I gasped sharply, trying not to make too much noise. There was a large knot in my throat as I watched the animal raise its head to stare in my eyes. It had mostly white fur with gray markings on its face. It looked so familiar to me…but how? It was just a wild animal. And it was about to eat me.

The wolf moved its head closer to my face and I squeezed my eyes shut to brace myself for my imminent death. But instead of pain, I merely felt the wolf start licking my face.

My heartbeat slowed down and I opened my eyes again. Then it hit me. This was no ordinary wolf before me. It was a direwolf.

It was Nymeria.

"Hello, girl," I whispered hoarsely.

I wanted to reach out and pet her, just as I used to when tending to her former owner, but then I remembered that my hands were bound together in my lap. My eyes were welling with tears as she licked my face clean.

Nymeria turned her head behind her and made a noise before she turned back to me. She bowed her head and sniffed at my hands and wrists before using her sharp teeth to gnaw at the ropes. I winced, hoping she wouldn't hurt me as she did this, but the wolf was very careful.

I jumped when I felt the rope around my chest pull a bit tighter around me. I moved my head over my shoulder slowly and saw a black furry tail in my peripheral vision. I heard the sound of this other wolf chomping on the ropes behind me.

"Thank you, girl," I murmured once my hands were free. After trying to restore my blood circulation in my sore wrists, I offered her my knuckles to sniff and Nymeria rubbed her jaw against them.

As I drew my knees closer to my chest, I couldn't help but marvel at the fact that Nymeria remembered me. It had been so long since I'd last seen her, padding off behind Arya and the butcher's boy on the Kingsroad. She was smaller then, the size of a normal dog. And now she was bigger than any dog I'd ever seen.

Nymeria pressed her forehead against mine and went around me to help the other wolf free me from the tree. I reached down and started working on the knots that bound my ankles together. I managed to loosen them and wriggle my feet until they were liberated.

It was then that I started to feel just how cold I actually was. I curled into a ball and looked around, my eyes widening when I noticed the pack of wolves that surrounded the small camp I had been brought to hours before. Wolves of many different colors cocked their heads at me. I felt the lump in my throat growing, but part of me trusted Nymeria's pack not to harm me.

Suddenly, the smell started to hit me. I turned my nose up as I recognized the scent of my own vomit. It was all over the front of my dress and on the ground beside me. I was disgusted, even though my being ill was what ultimately saved me from those awful men.

The ropes around me fell onto my lap. I took a deep breath and lifted it up, standing up on my unsteady legs. Nymeria came to my side and nudged my elbow with her wet nose. She started walking and I felt compelled to follow her.

I walked with the pack of wolves, my body aching and cold. I pulled my cloak tighter around myself and tried to ignore my chattering teeth. Every now and again I would steal a glance over my shoulder to see if anyone was behind me. I felt something inside of me telling me that we were being followed, but after the tenth time looking and seeing nothing, I chalked it up to paranoia and walked as closely as I could to Nymeria.

* * *

 _Arya Stark's feet knew where they were going better than she did. All four of them. She looked up beside her and saw the woman. She was disheveled, her hair was a mess, she was dirty, and her dark gray dress was covered in something that smelled horrible. And yet she was still the beautiful woman Arya always knew her to be._

 _Arya led her to a riverbank just as the sun was finally coming out to start the day. She nudged at the woman and urged her to clean herself off. The woman paused for a moment and took off her shoes and cloak. Arya looked away when she took her dress off, giving the poor woman a moment of privacy. When she dared to look back, she found the woman submerged in the water, scrubbing at her dress to try and clean it off. Arya wasn't sure, but she thought the woman might be crying as she did so._

 _The woman turned around and held the soaking wet dress to her front when she climbed out of the water. Arya picked the cloak up in her mouth and waited as the woman wrung the dress out and put it on the ground to dry. The woman came closer to Arya and took the cloak from her. She shrouded herself with it and sat on the ground with shining eyes._

 _Arya looked behind her at her followers and told them to leave, to give the two some space. When she turned her head back around, the woman had her face in her hands and was sobbing. Arya stepped closer to her, circling the woman before lying down with her head in the woman's lap._

 _"Oi! You're going to wake her up!" a voice hissed above Arya's head._

 _"I didn't_ mean _to!"_

 _Arya squeezed her eyes tightly before opening them up. She took a deep breath and sat up to stretch out her sore body. She stared at her two human hands that clutched each other as they reached out towards the ashes from last night's fire. She had been dreaming she was a wolf again, for the first time in a long time._

 _"See, I told you," Gendry gestured to Arya as she yawned._

 _"I'm sorry," Hot Pie sighed, bending over to pick up the bag that he must have dropped. He looked at Arya. "I didn't mean to wake you, Arry."_

 _"Wasn't you, Hot Pie," she shrugged and smirked at Gendry. "You weren't the one yelling."_

 _Hot Pie and Gendry exchanged glances and Arya stood up, brushing the dirt off the clothes Yoren had given her so long ago. She turned away as the corner of her lips started to twitch upwards._

 _While her dream wasn't necessarily happy, she couldn't help but smile. It was all just a figment of her imagination, but she saw Fallon one more time, and that was enough for her._

* * *

Nymeria carried my sopping wet dress over her back as we continued through the woods. I was cold and my hair was wet, but I finally felt clean.

The direwolf led me far into the forest and eventually we were reunited with her pack at their den. Nymeria nuzzled my arm and laid herself down on the dirt. I grabbed the dress and hung it over a low-lying tree branch and then sat beside her, stroking her soft fur absentmindedly.

As I sat there with her, a sudden realization hit me. How the fuck was I going to find my way back to Sandor? And how was he going to find me? I was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by wolves. Where was he? Was he looking for me? Was he worried about me? I felt more tears welling up in my eyes. Nymeria looked up at me and put her head in my lap once more that day.

A gray wolf padded up towards us with something in its mouth. Nymeria nuzzled me more as the wolf came closer, as if expecting me to be afraid of what it had. Sure enough, as the wolf approached us, I saw what it was carrying. It was a bloody human arm, ripped right off the elbow. I gulped and scooted closer to Nymeria when the other wolf plopped down across from us. It held the arm in its paws and began gnawing at the appendage. But then part of me felt relieved when I noticed something about it.

There was a red wine stain birthmark that covered some of the hand, extending across the wrist.


	33. Dangerous People

**_Sandor Clegane trekked_** _blindly through the forest, feeling empty. He trudged over sticks and rocks, eventually finding quite a gory scene in the steely gray morning. There was a bloody brown cape at Sandor's feet, as well as a body, or at least what was left of one._

 _Large chunks had been bitten out of this sad fucker's corpse, limbs ripped off their hinges. And his face… Half of it had been chewed off, it seemed, leaving the rest of it covered in blood. One cloudy blue eye stared up at Sandor, as if begging for help._

 _This man must have been with the two Sandor had hacked to bits the night before, he surmised; one of the men who took Fallon from him. He was lucky that the wolves got to him first. Sandor would've made it slow and painful._

 _Tightly gripping the swatch of fabric in his hand, Sandor continued on his way._

 _Deeper into the woods, Sandor picked up a scent. He recognized it all too well, having spent so much of his life surrounded by boys too thick in the head to know when to stop. Someone had been sick not long before, perhaps just hours earlier._

 _As he got closer, he detected something else; something faint, something familiar. He felt his chest get tighter as he approached the small clearing. A firepit littered with charred wood and ashes sat in the middle. Two logs sat across the pit from each other. Scattered on the roots of a nearby tree were gnawed off bits of rope and what looked like a hastily made gag. To the side of the tree was the source of the smell._

 _Sandor felt absolutely hollow inside. He stepped closer to the tree and crouched down to pick up one of the ropes on the ground. It felt warm, but he wondered if that was just his hope fooling him into thinking he could feel her body heat just once more._

 _He sat down on the ground against the tree, where she had sat, where she likely died. He dropped the rope and held the swatch up to his face. It was all he had left of her. He knew in his heart that he would never see her again. He would never hear her voice, never hold her ineptly in his arms, never remind her to be safe and cautious ever again._

 _She had finally learned the lesson he'd been teaching her for ages, he thought bitterly. And now she was gone._

* * *

It was pitch black outside when I woke. I was draped under my cloak, my head resting against something warm and furry. Something that lifted and fell, matching my every breath. Just as I had when I woke up the past two mornings, I allowed myself to think that I was nestled into Sandor's bare chest and that he had finally found me in the wilderness.

But I knew better.

I squeezed my eyes tighter and cozied up to Nymeria's body more, hoping I would fall back asleep. And then the all too familiar reality of why I had woken up in the middle of the night hit me. My stomach was roiling yet again.

I threw my cloak off and lunged forward, just in time to vomit away from the direwolf and into the pile of ash from a fire I had created earlier that day. My fingers dug into the earth before me as I retched. My body quivered and I wiped my mouth off with the back of my hand before sitting up on my knees.

There was a wet nudge on the back of my head and I turned around. I could barely make out Nymeria behind me, carrying my cloak in her mouth. I nodded my thanks to her and wrapped it back around myself.

"I'm sorry, girl," I whispered hoarsely. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

Nymeria leant her head down and nudged at me again, only this time at my elbow. She straightened up and slowly started walking away. She took a few steps and then turned back to me, whining and cocking her head, as if asking me to follow her.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

Nymeria whined again and started walking, so I got to my feet and followed her out of her den, careful not to step on any of her sleeping compatriots.

* * *

 _"I'm just…trying to understand."_

 _"Would you_ please _shut up about it?" Arya Stark implored, rubbing at her tired eyes as she trudged through the woods._

 _She'd been woken up prematurely again that morning, amidst another dream where she was living through Nymeria's eyes. She had felt positively exhausted, as though Arya herself had actually been the one walking alongside Fallon in the dark._

 _It was strange, Arya had thought when she and the two boys finally set out, to have two separate dreams where she was her old pet in such close proximity. And to have these two dreams both feature her old friend as well…_

 _"Jaqen H'ghar offered you three kills," Gendry continued needling her._

 _"I'm not listening," Arya retorted._

 _"But just explain it to me," Gendry said from the front. "He offered to kill any three people you wanted—dead. All you had to do was give him the names—anyone. You could have picked King Joffrey."_

 _"Shut up."_

 _"Could've picked_ Tywin Lannister _."_

 _"Jaqen got us out of Harrenhal, so_ why _are you complaining?" Arya shot back, further irritated by the sound of Hot Pie's sword dragging on the ground in front of her._

 _"But_ you _could've ended the war," Gendry pointed out._

 _Arya stopped in her tracks. They were standing in a clearing just ahead of what looked like the ruins of an old stone wall._

 _"Where are we going?" she sighed._

 _"North," Gendry said, turning around to look at her._

 _"If we were going north, we should have come to the Red Fork River by now," Arya told him._

 _"Maybe we already passed it," Hot Pie offered._

 _"It's a_ hundred _feet wide," Arya furrowed her brow at him. "_ How _could we have passed it?"_

 _Hot Pie stood with his hands on his beefy hips, looking as if he were actually trying to find an answer for her rhetorical question._

 _"If we hit the Red Fork, we can follow it west to Riverrun. My mother grew up there. My grandfather's a lord. He'll protect us," Arya's suggested._

 _Before anyone could respond, the three travelers heard what sounded like a distressed bird past what remained of the wall. And under that, the faint sound of a man singing. Someone was coming and they needed to hide._

 _"Could be a minstrel," Hot Pie muttered as they scrambled to the wall._

 _"Shut up," Arya whispered._

 _While Gendry and Hot Pie crouched against the stones, Arya stood against a shorter part of the wall, peering up over it to see who was coming in the distance. Nothing._

 _"A minstrel's got gold sometimes," Hot Pie added._

 _Arya lowered herself to look through a hole small enough to press her face against if she wanted. That's when she saw the group of men appear from behind the trees._

 _"We could jump him, tie him up, steal 'is gold, and buy some food—"_

 _Arya shushed him loudly as the men came closer. They were a large group, all holding weapons of some sort, but not heavily armored. Arya could see a quiver of arrows behind one man's shoulder. The one in front was casually holding onto the pommel of his sword, flouncing as he went, as if dancing to the song that he was singing, not a care in the world. His voice wasn't horrible, but it couldn't hold a candle to Fallon's._

 _"_ And so he spoke, and so he spoke _," he sang. "_ That lord of Castamere _."_

 _Arya recognized the song and it put a bad taste in her mouth._

 _"_ But now the rains WEEP O'ER HIS HALL _," the man flung his head back dramatically as he belted out the last few words. "_ With no one there to hear _…"_

 _Arya gasped and quickly pulled away from the hole in the wall, leaning flat against the stones with her companions. The three of them stared at the arrow and watched it settle into the tree trunk across from them. If Arya hadn't been quick enough, it would have gone straight into her forehead._

 _"What's lurking behind that wall?" drawled the singing man. "A lion? A wolf?"_

 _"Just a dirty little cub, I think," said another voice._

 _"Loose a few more shafts," the first man ordered._

 _"Don't," Arya lunged forward and stood where the group of men could see her above the wall. She held her new sword at the ready and watched as the singer and the archer approached._

 _The man who sang casually put his foot up on the stones, pulling out a wineskin and taking a swig of his drink. He was balding with scraggily blonde hair that hung down to his shoulders and he had an unkempt beard on his chin above his dark red clothing. The archer stood just behind him, cocking his head down at Arya. He looked more put-together, if only because his dark hair looked combed and his beard was kept closer to his face._

 _"Put the sword down, girl," the singer rested his elbow on his knee after finishing his swig._

 _"You go on down the road," Arya told him, hoping she sounded more threatening than she imagined she did. "Just keep on singing so we know where you are."_

 _The singing man smirked down at her, arching his eyebrow and crinkling his scarred forehead._

 _"Leave us be and I won't kill you," she said as the rest of the man's group came closer to watch._

 _The man in front seemed like he was trying not to laugh, exhaling sharply out of his nose. His compatriots behind him chuckled out loud._

 _"Generous," the archer quipped._

 _"You're a dangerous person," the singer pointed at Arya. "I like dangerous people." He continued to stare at her with his blue eyes, then leaned closer, saying in a low voice, "Why are your friends so shy?"_

 _Hot Pie and Gendry exchanged glances against the wall._

 _"What friends?" Arya asked, forgetting that she had said 'we' earlier instead of 'I.'_

 _"The fat one to your left and the lad beside 'im," the archer craned his neck._

 _Arya glanced over at Gendry and Hot Pie. The older boy sighed and stepped forward, grabbing the other to pull him along. They stood on either side of Arya and held up their swords. Only one had to pretend he was brave._

 _The two men on the wall hopped over it, not scared for a moment. Some of the other men they were traveling with came around through the trees. The archer stood near the singer, holding his bow so that it stood on the ground, taller than him._

 _"Three young ones on the run, carrying castle-forged swords. You escape from Harrenhal?" the singer in dark red asked._

 _"Who are you?" Arya asked._

 _"Thoros of Myr. And the fellow here with the bow is Anguy," he gestured behind him._

 _"No, who do you fight for?" Arya demanded._

 _"The Brotherhood Without Banners," Thoros answered. "Now, come along," he stepped closer. Arya stood her ground, but Gendry and Hot Pie backed away slightly. "I want to hear how two boys and a_ very _dangerous girl escaped Harrenhal."_

 _"I'm not going with them," Hot Pie asserted. "The Brotherhood? That's who the Mountain and them lot were lookin' for. They'll bring us back and put rats in us."_

 _"You've got nothing to fear from us, son," Thoros assured him. "The lords of Westeros want to burn the countryside. We're trying to save it. Now come on. We'll talk some more over brown bread and stew. And then you can go on your way."_

 _Behind Arya, Hot Pie was not convinced. He stepped back a few paces and held up his sword higher. Thoros smirked wistfully and glanced at Anguy over his shoulder. The archer picked up his bow and reached back to grab an arrow._

 _"Here's the thing, fat boy," Anguy said, leaning back to fire an arrow up into the sky. "When I'm done talking, that arrow's falling down on your fat head."_

 _Arya, Hot Pie, and Gendry all looked up to the sky to see where the arrow was._

 _"So I advise you move, because I'm done talking."_

 _Hot Pie skipped forward, just before said arrow landed hard in the ground where he once stood. Arya stared down at it in awe. She would've loved to have an archery lesson with the dark-haired man._

 _Thoros gestured for Arya and her friends to lead the way as some of the Brotherhood chortled. Arya made her way up and over the stone wall, hoping that Thoros would keep his word. She had to find Riverrun. She had to find her family._

 _"'Alf the country's starvin' and look at this one," Anguy watched as Hot Pie struggled over the wall._

 _Thoros grinned. "Maybe he's half the reason the country's starving."_

* * *

As wild as she had allowed herself to be since Arya freed her off the Kingsroad, Nymeria was remarkably patient with me as we walked. I was exhausted and moving slowly, but she stayed by my side the entire way. She also stood vigil both times I had to stop to be sick again.

I wondered what was happening to me, what illness I had come down with. I wondered if it was something in the venison Nymeria's pack had presented me during my brief time with the wolves, something I hadn't been able to burn out with the fires I had built. But, as I remembered, I had been sick before I even laid eyes on the wolves… Could it be coincidence?

We were nearly out of the woods by the third time I felt my stomach start to churn. I gulped but didn't stop moving as we got closer to the edge of the forest. Nymeria finally stopped beside the furthest tree, as if to tell me that was as far as she was going. She looked up at me and let me pet her. I stroked behind her ears and dared to bend over so that I could press my forehead to hers once more.

"Thank you, girl," I murmured to the direwolf. Nymeria nuzzled me and licked my cheek.

Tears welled up in my eyes when I straightened up to look out at the village she had brought me back to. It was the same place I had been taken from. I could see the steps outside of the tavern where I was grabbed by the men. My breath caught in my throat and I reached down to feel Nymeria's soft fur. But I found nothing.

I turned around and looked into the woods, but the direwolf was nowhere to be seen. I gulped once more and wiped at my eyes before the tears could fall. Then I took a deep breath and remembered what I needed to do. I made my way for the tavern. Surely someone inside would recall seeing him.

With every step, my stomach felt worse. It was a wonder I even made it across the grass and up onto the steps. My hand shaking, I opened the door and stumbled inside.

The tavern was dark, lit only by the sun coming through the windows. One man was slumped against a table while another nursed from his tankard. The smell of ale in the air was so pungent that it made my knees buckle.

"May I be of service?" a sweet voice asked.

"Yes, please," I said, sinking down into the nearest chair I could find.

A barmaid not much older than me came forward. Her wavy black hair contrasted with her icy blue eyes. If I hadn't felt so ill I would have wondered if she was perhaps the product of a night spent with Robert Baratheon.

"Are you well?" she asked, keenly staring at me as she knelt before me.

Ignoring her question, I wrapped my arms around myself. "I need to find him."

"Collyn, fetch me a bucket," the woman called over her shoulder. "Who are you looking for?"

"My…" I wasn't sure how to describe him. "We were here…nights ago… H-He's tall and…"

A young boy with dark hair came out of the kitchens, wielding the bucket the young woman had asked for.

"Hurry now," the woman glanced at him quickly, as if afraid to take her eyes off me. "Was he the big man with the burned-up face?"

"Aye," I nodded.

"Thank you," the woman said as she took the bucket from Collyn. She gestured back to the kitchen with her head and he was on his way. "I remember him. I remember _you_. Couldn't help wondering what you were doing with such a frightening-looking man."

I didn't have enough time to be irked with her description of Sandor, so I merely asked, "Where did he go?"

"Didn't see," she shrugged, placing the bucket in my hands. "He was gone when the wolves attacked those men in the woods. Are you going to be all right? I can get you a room, love. Half-priced."

"Many thanks, but I need to—"

I thanked each of the Seven for the bucket, as I'm sure the barmaid did as well.

"Come, love. I'll bring you to your room," she said, standing up and grabbing my arm.

"I h-have no money," I admitted to her shakily.

"Not to worry, dear," she helped me to my feet. "I won't charge you."

* * *

 _"I never liked the skinny ones. Like drinking from a_ puddle," _Thoros said, to the mirth of his remaining Brotherhood. He'd sent Anguy with a group of men to go scouting. "_ Not _that I'm averse to drinking from a puddle every now and again, you understand…"_

 _"I don't drink ale," Arya Stark told him when he offered to pour her some from the pitcher._

 _"There's no story so good a drink won't make it better," Thoros leaned his head down closer to his mug after he passed the pitcher to his left._

 _"Yeah!" one of the Brotherhood cheered._

 _"You see?" Thoros gestured to them with his mug. "They've all suffered through my bouts of sobriety. It's very tedious for all concerned."_

 _Arya stared at him while she chewed. She didn't know how she felt about this man. Sure, he'd given her and her friends bread and stew, but was he really a friend? Could she trust him not to send her back to the Lannisters for however many Dragons she might be worth?_

 _"Now, how did three children—?"_

 _"We're not children," Arya corrected him._

 _Thoros waved his mug. "How did three_ young persons _such as yourselves,_ untrained _in the art of war…escape from Harrenhal?"_

 _Arya glanced down at the other boys sitting on her bench, but no one seemed to want to answer._

 _"Gendry's a smith," she told Thoros. "He was apprenticed in the armory."_

 _"A smith, eh?" Thoros looked down at him. "Where'd you train?"_

 _Arya and Gendry exchanged glances. She wanted him to lie so her cover as Arry wouldn't be blown. But there was something in his eyes that told her he wasn't going to._

 _"King's Landing," Gendry said through a mouthful of food. "Tobho Mott's shop."_

 _"That criminal," Thoros snickered. "He charges twice as much as every other armorer in the city."_

 _"That's because he's twice as good," Gendry said quite seriously._

 _"AHA!" Thoros pointed at him. "A smith and a salesman."_

 _"Gendry stole us weapons," Arya continued with her tale, dipping her bread in her stew before taking another bite._

 _"Ah, fought your way out of Harrenhal, I see," Thoros said in a breathy voice._

 _Arya wasn't sure if he believed her or not. "He knows how to use a sword," she added, mostly for her ego. "And so do I."_

 _Thoros grinned into his mug and his companions laughed out loud._

 _"My brothers taught me," Arya said._

 _The men continued to laugh. Thoros' grin grew wider. Annoyed, Arya stood up and withdrew her sword, pointing the tip inches away from the man in red's chin. The brothers let out a great and condescending, "Oooooooh!" Several people in the tavern turned to look._

 _Thoros glanced down at the weapon for a moment, then pushed the sword away with his mug before dropping it on the table. He quickly grabbed his own sword and stood up, disarming her immediately._

 _Arya stepped backwards and watched him whirl around, holding his sword out to show her that he could easily have killed her if he wanted to. The men in the tavern cheered him on, which only served to embarrass Arya more._

 _Thoros straightened up and swung his sword around before turning and grabbing another man's mug._

 _"To your brothers!" he toasted, involving the whole tavern, making them cheer more._

 _Face red, Arya went to pick her sword up. She sat back down at the table across from Thoros, wishing she hadn't let her pride get the better of her. Fortunately for her, the man didn't gloat too much._

 _"You can finish your meals before you go," he said kindly. "It may be awhile before you see another."_

 _"You'll free us?" Arya asked._

 _"I gave you my word," he reminded her._

 _Arya stood up, giving Gendry and Hot Pie a look to follow her._

 _"But before you go," Thoros stood up himself. "Allow me to raise a cup to your s—"_

 _"Heey, HEEEEEY!"_

 _Arya whipped her head around and saw Anguy slapping a beam from the ceiling of the tavern they were in, holding his hands and bow in the air to proudly announce his arrival with the other brothers…and one other._

 _"Now_ that _is an uncommonly large person," Thoros slurred, watching as his men marched in a tall armored man with a hood over his head. The man struggled but couldn't free himself. Thoros stepped past Arya to approach him. "How does one manage to_ subdue _such an uncommonly large person?"_

 _The man under the hood growled and shook himself, but still couldn't break free. Arya couldn't help but feel like she recognized his dark gray armor._

 _"One waits for him to drink until he passes out," Anguy smirked at Thoros._

 _"Poor man. You have my sympathy," Thoros crooned, reaching up to remove the black hood._

 _Arya turned her head immediately when the man's burned face was revealed. She knew she had to hide from him. Even dressed in boy's clothing and her hair lopped off, she couldn't risk him seeing her._

 _"Aha. Not a man at all," Thoros uttered. "A HOUND!"_

 _Arya heard the men in the tavern barking like dogs in response, but she had to focus on when to make her move without him recognizing her._

 _"So good to see you again, Clegane," Thoros said._

 _"Thoros?" the Hound asked incredulously in his deep voice. "The fuck you doing here?"_

 _"Drinking and talking too much—same as ever…"_

 _Arya decided this was the moment. She grabbed Hot Pie's arm and pushed him out in front of her, touching Gendry's arm more gently when he passed her. Then she made her move, hoping that the man in red would distract the Hound enough for her to slip away._

 _"A pretty prize, lads," Thoros declared._

 _"Yeah!" the Brotherhood cheered._

 _Arya stared at the ground as she walked past the Hound. She could feel his dark eyes following her as she went. Her blood went colder with every step she took._

 _"Girl," he rumbled._

 _Arya stopped her tracks. He recognized her._

 _The Hound turned his head and looked down at Thoros before him. "What in seven hells are you doing with the Stark bitch?"_

 _Then they both turned their heads to look at Arya. Her eyes widened._

 _Fuck._


	34. Trial By Combat

**_Arya Stark licked_** _her fingers clean. She'd just finished the pastry Hot Pie had made her when they said their goodbyes. He had meant for it to be shaped like a wolf, but what it lacked in appearance, it surely made up for in taste._

 _Once she was clean, Arya wiped her hand on the leg of her trousers and returned it to hold onto Thoros' waist before her. Not long into their journey, he'd placed a hood over her head, leaving her in the dark, only able to trust this near-stranger and his horse._

 _Though she wasn't locked away in the small carriage with the Hound, she felt like a just as much of a prisoner._ "These woods aren't safe for Ned Stark's daughter," _Thoros had said to her._ "You're lucky we found you."

 _And yet, Arya didn't feel lucky at all. Her father was dead. Her brother was fighting a war. Her family likely thought she was dead. Her greatest friend and former handmaiden had been taken away from her. And now she'd lost another friend; Hot Pie had been bought by the innkeeper as payment for all the free meals she'd given Thoros over the years._

 _She never thought she would say it, but she missed Hot Pie. He never stopped talking and all he ever did was slow them down, but he was her friend. And now he was gone. Probably sweating away in the kitchens of the inn at the crossroads. Happily working, crushing cherries, baking pies. He had survived Harrenhal and now he was doing what he loved._

 _Hot Pie was the lucky one. Not Arya._

 _"Can I take this hood off yet?" she asked._

 _"I do apologize, little lady, but it's better for you if you don't see where we're going," Thoros responded._

 _Arya heard a horse neighing somewhere in their caravan. Then a man called for them to halt. Thoros slowed his horse down to a stop. Arya felt him turn around and partially lift up her hood, but not enough that she could see very well. She could make out the wineskin he was offering to her, but that was about it._

 _"What is it?" she asked._

 _"Blackstrap rum," he told her._

 _"Ugh!" she grunted when he thrust the drink under her nose. Then the hood fell back over her face, returning her to the darkness._

 _"Not easy finding molasses in wartime," Thoros sighed, closing the wineskin. "You're not as adventurous as your old handmaiden was. She gladly took me up on this when I first met her."_

 _Arya felt a twinge of happiness inside her. "You knew Fallon?"_

 _"Sweet girl. I do hope she's well," Thoros sighed. "You're sure you don't want any?"_

 _"I'm sure," Arya said. She suddenly felt like she could trust Thoros more now._

 _"I'd have some," came the voice of Gendry from behind them._

 _Arya heard someone catch the skin Thoros had tossed. She had almost forgotten Gendry was still with her. Her only friend these days. Though she knew the Brotherhood could find work for him as their blacksmith, she wished they wouldn't. She had grown to deeply care about Gendry and hoped he'd keep her company on her way back to her family, perhaps even man the forge for Robb, rather than for these men._

 _Someone grabbed onto Arya's arm and pulled it around his shoulders, snaking another arm around her waist to ease her down off the horse._

 _"Let's go home," Thoros said._

 _Once Arya was put back on the ground, she was led by two men down a few hills. As they got closer to their destination, she started to hear running water and realized that wherever they were going, it was under a waterfall. She could feel the spray hitting her as she blindly traveled down._

 _"Careful, little lady," Thoros murmured over her shoulder. "It's a bit slippery."_

 _Knowing that the Hound was not far behind her, Arya hoped the men escorting him wouldn't be so kind as to warn him._

 _Her blood boiled at the thought of him. She remembered stopping him outside the inn—the very same inn where she watched him carry Mycah's dead body over the back of his horse. Fallon had tried to hide her face from the corpse, but she had seen it. And that was when she knew one day she would kill the Hound._

"You remember the last time you were here?" _she had asked him earlier this day._

 _He had looked around, then sneered back down at her,_ "Looks like every other shit inn on the road."

 _The Hound not remembering what had been haunting her for months only made her hate him more. How? she wondered. How in seven hells could Fallon have befriended him?_

 _Arya could still hear dripping water as she was led around what she could only imagine was a cavern under the waterfall. Eventually she heard the sound of crackling fire, more than just the torches held by the Brotherhood around her._

 _She was stopped and her hood was removed. Her instincts had been correct about where she was. The hood had prepared her for the darkness she was met with. Beside her stood Gendry. She was happy to see him again, her friend amongst strangers._

 _Closer to the firepit stood the Hound, still hooded and tied up with ropes. He whipped his head around, trying to get his bearings as best he could. Arya smirked, enjoying his confusion._

 _"What is this place?" Gendry asked._

 _"Somewhere neither wolves nor lions come prowling," Thoros said from the other side of Arya before walking off, his hair still in the same bun he'd tied when they rode away from the inn._

 _Anguy finally pulled the hood off of the Hound and walked away from him. Arya watched as he backed away from the fire. Was that fear she sensed? Was the vicious dog afraid of fire?_

 _He seemed to have calmed down a bit by the time Thoros approached him. The Hound took in his surroundings. Arya couldn't see his face, but she thought she heard him snicker._

 _"Yeh look like a bunch of swineherds," he said._

 _"Some of us_ were _swineherds," Anguy pointed out from across the fire. "And some of us tanners. And masons. That was before."_

 _"Yeh're still swineherds, and tanners, and masons," the Hound told him. "Yeh think carrying a crooked spear makes you a soldier?"_

 _"No," said a new voice._

 _Arya saw a couple brothers move out of the way for this man to walk through. He had a strip of leather tied around his head as an eyepatch of sorts. He looked disheveled, like he had been through a lot in his life._

 _"Fighting in a war makes you a soldier," the man continued._

 _"Beric Dondarrion?" the Hound sounded surprised. Arya vaguely recognized that name. "You've seen better days."_

 _"And I won't see them again," Beric said._

 _"Stark deserters, Baratheon deserters…" the Hound shook his head and started turning around to address the entire Brotherhood in his audience. "You lot aren't fighting in a war, you're running from it."_

 _"Last I heard you were King Joffrey's guard dog," Beric said. "But here you are a thousand miles from home. Which of us is running?"_

 _"Untie these ropes and we'll find out," the Hound growled. "What are you doing? Leading a mob of_ peasants _?"_

 _"Ned Stark ordered me to execute your brother in King Robert's name."_

 _Arya and Gendry exchanged glances. This man had known her father. Surely, he was a friend._

 _"Ned Stark is_ dead _," the Hound said, making Arya clench her fists. "King Robert is_ dead _. My brother's alive," he spat down on the ground. "You're fighting for ghosts."_

 _"That's what we are," Beric smirked up at the Hound. "Ghosts. Waiting for you in the dark. You can't see us, but we see you. No matter whose cloak you wear—Lannister, Stark, Baratheon—you prey on the weak, the Brotherhood Without Banners will hunt you down."_

 _"You found god. Is that it?" the Hound asked._

 _"Aye. I've been reborn in the light of the one true god. As have we all."_

 _Gendry stepped behind Arya and came to her other side, as if to hear what they were speaking of better._

 _"As would any man who's seen the things we've seen," Beric continued._

 _"If you mean to murder me then bloody well get on with it," the Hound said impatiently. "Whatever god or gods're up there know I've nothing to live for anymore."_

 _The last thing he said made Arya's ears perk up, but she wasn't sure why._

 _"You'll die soon enough,_ dog _," Thoros assured the Hound. "But it won't be murder. Only justice."_

 _"And a kinder fate than yeh deserve," Anguy hissed. "_ Lions _yeh call yerselves. At the Mummer's Ford, girls of seven years were raped, and babes still on the breast were cut in two while their mothers_ watched _."_

 _"I wasn't at the Mummer's Ford. Dump yer dead children at some other door," the Hound said defensively._

 _"House Clegane was built upon_ dead children _," Thoros raised his voice. "I saw them lay Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys before the Iron Throne."_

 _"Do you take me for my brother?" the Hound asked. "Is being born Clegane a crime?" he projected across the cavern._

 _"_ Murder _is a crime!" Anguy hollered._

 _"I never touched the Targaryen babes. I never saw them. Never smelled them. Never heard them bawling. You want to cut my throat, GET ON WITH IT!" the Hound roared. "But don't call me murderer and pretend that you're not."_

 _Arya couldn't hold anything back anymore. "You murdered Mycah," she called out. The Hound and the Brotherhood all turned to look at her. "The butcher's boy. My friend."_

 _Beric started walking closer, listening intently to her words._

 _"He was twelve years old. He was unarmed. And you rode him down. You slung him over your horse like he was some deer," Arya told him, biting back tears._

 _Finally, the Hound seemed to remember. "Aye, he was a bleeder."_

 _"You don't deny killing this boy?" Beric turned to him._

 _"I was Joffrey's sworn shield. The boy attacked the prince," the Hound admitted to the one-eyed man._

 _"That's a lie," Arya seethed, causing Beric to whip his head around to her. "_ I _hit Joffrey. Mycah just ran away."_

 _"Then I should've killed_ you _," the Hound turned to her again. "Not my place to question princes."_

 _"Don't know what that lovely Fallon girl ever saw in you," Thoros shook his head._

 _The Hound snapped his head towards Thoros at the sound of her name._

 _"Couldn't understand how she was so fond of you. Where is she now?" Thoros asked._

 _Arya felt heavy pressure on her chest. She stared fiercely at the Hound, anticipating his answer._

 _"She was taken from me," he finally said, his voice low._

 _In the flickering light, Arya saw Thoros' face fall. "Is she dead?" he asked._

 _The Hound said nothing. Arya's anger bubbled up inside her once again and restraint became something she couldn't muster at all._

 _"Did you murder her too?!" Arya shouted._

 _Gendry grabbed onto her wrist, ready to hold her back if she tried to attack him, which she very much felt she was about to do._

 _The Hound turned on her, fire in his eyes. He was about to say something when Beric interrupted him._

 _"ENOUGH!" he barked, glaring at Arya first, then the Hound. "You stand accused of murder. But no one here knows the truth of the charge, so it is not for us to judge you. Only the Lord of Light may do that now."_

 _Arya stood next to Gendry, still feeling his hand on her wrist. She breathed deeply, tears in her eyes. She couldn't bring herself to look at the Hound anymore, so she stared into the fire._

 _"I sentence you to trial by combat," Beric said._

 _"So, who will it be?" the Hound smirked. He turned to Thoros. "Should we find out if your Fire God_ really _loves you, priest?" Then he turned back to Anguy. "Or you, archer? What are you worth with a sword in yer hand?" The Hound glanced back at Arya, a sick smile on his face. "Or is the little girl the bravest one here?"_

 _"Aye, she might be," Beric admitted, turning to look at her as well. "But it's me you'll fight."_

 _As angry and upset as Arya was, she found solace in the look on the Hound's face. She saw it again—just as with the fire, a sense of fear in his eyes. Perhaps Beric would help Arya tick a name off her list._

* * *

 _"Who was Fallon?" Gendry asked in a hushed voice as the Brotherhood prepared for the trial by combat._

 _"She was my friend," Arya merely said, her eyes still glassy._

 _"And you think the Hound killed her too?"_

 _Arya felt a pang in her heart. "I wouldn't put it past him."_

 _"I don't know, he seemed quite upset about her."_

 _"I don't_ care _what he seemed. He's a murderer," Arya said fiercely, sitting down on a nearby rock and turning her attention to Thoros, who stood at the fire._

 _"Lord, cast your light upon us," the Red priest said._

 _"Lord of Light, defend us!" the Brotherhood chanted in their circle around the cavern._

 _Anguy was cutting the Hound free of his bindings. The Hound's armor made loud noises as he stretched out his arms, sore from being tied up for so long._

 _"Show us the truth," Thoros implored the flames. "Strike this man down if he is guilty. Give strength to his sword if he is true. Lord of Light, give us wisdom… For the night is dark and full of terrors."_

 _"For the night is dark and full of terrors," the Brotherhood chanted in response._

 _As the Hound was given his sword back by one of the brothers and started swinging it around, Thoros turned to grab Beric's sword. Beric was kneeling down by the fire, most likely praying for himself. Thoros approached him and cut Beric's palm, which Arya watched through the dancing flames. Then Thoros handed him the sword and Beric slid it over his gash from the hilt up, igniting the blade with fire._

 _Arya watched in awe as Beric held his flaming sword. She felt a resurgence of hope when she saw, just past Beric's kneeling body, the Hound stumble backwards with wide eyes._

 _Both fighters were given a shield from one of the brothers. Arya was delighted to see the small, wooden one thrust into the Hound's arm. Once both were wielding their implements, it wasn't long before the Hound roared and lunged forward._

 _After watching Beric parry the Hound's attacks successfully, stopping only to cock his head at his opponent, Arya stood up. She wanted the best possible view of the Hound's demise—for herself, and more importantly, for Mycah._

 _The men continued to fight. Beric had backed the Hound into the circle of brothers, making them have to move out of the way as Beric swung his fiery sword. Arya had to duck away, almost running into Gendry, just before the Hound grabbed one of the brothers and threw him in the middle of the fray. The Hound then lunged forward and met Beric's sword in the air. He raised his shield and hit Beric with it, knocking him backwards._

 _Arya was breathless. Beric had had the upper hand it, but it appeared he was losing it. The Hound was now backing him across the cavern, grunting as he wildly thrashed his sword around. But just as her hopes were dwindling, Beric dodged one of the Hound's attacks and knocked him backwards, making him stumble into a small fire behind a set of small barrels._

 _The Hound screamed as the embers flew up around him. But he quickly stepped out of the flames and kicked the barrels at Beric. This didn't stop Dondarrion. He lunged at the Hound, until his opponent raised a leg and kicked him away. Beric scuttled backwards, trying to catch his breath. When the Hound came upon him, though, he managed to push the larger man down._

 _"Get back!" hissed Thoros, quickly grabbing Arya so the Hound wouldn't fall on her._

 _The Hound raised his sword in time to parry some of Beric's fiery blows. Then he got up and attacked Beric with such force that he actually broke off part of Beric's shield. Beric discarded it and fought back, though. He fought with such ferocity that he knocked the Hound onto his haunches._

 _Unfortunately, the Hound was quick with his shield and managed to get back to his feet. Arya felt tears in her eyes and hoped that Beric would soon dispatch him. She didn't believe in the Lord of Light, but she hoped He would give her justice._

 _"Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!" the brothers chanted as the Hound's shield went up in flames._

 _The Hound stood back, crying out as he tried to extinguish the blaze himself. Arya felt antsy and wondered why Beric was merely standing there, swinging his sword around instead of chopping the Hound's head off while he was distracted._

 _"KILL HIM!" she shrieked desperately._

 _Beric finally went at the Hound, his men still chanting around him. The Hound blocked him and then elbowed him in the chest, sending Beric backwards yet again. He fell to his knees, and without his shield, resorted to holding his sword above his head. The Hound yelled as he swung his sword down. And down it went. Through Beric's flaming metal. And through Beric's shoulder._

 _The chanting died as the blood spurted out. The Hound let go of his sword and stepped back when Beric dropped what remained of his own. The one-eyed man fell onto his side, unmoving._

 _Everyone was still, except for Thoros, who flung himself forward, onto Beric's lifeless body. As he quickly whispered a prayer over his friend, the Hound discovered there were still flames on his shield. He threw himself onto the ground, crying out as he tried to stamp out the fire by bashing his shield on the floor below._

 _Sensing her moment, Arya turned around and grabbed a knife from the holster of the nearest brother she could find._

 _"ARYA, DON'T!" Gendry hollered, running around the boulder she was climbing over and catching her before she could attack the Hound._

 _"NO! NO! LET GO OF ME! LET ME GO!" she screeched, fighting against Gendry as he wrestled her to the ground._

 _"Looks like their god likes me more than your butcher's boy," the Hound gloated, the sick smile back on his face._

 _"BURN IN HELL!" Arya screamed back at him, helpless against Gendry's strong arms._

 _"He will…" panted a familiar voice._

 _Both Arya and the Hound looked over at Beric, who was somehow back on his knee, his armor ruined. Thoros had brought him back to life. It was enough to make anyone wonder if the Red God actually was the one true god._

 _"…But not today," Beric finished, catching his breath._

* * *

 _"I want my gold!"_

 _"It says it clearly right there on that note, you'll be repaid in full when the war's over," Thoros told the Hound, holding his hands before him._

 _"PISS ON THAT!" the Hound shouted, angrily throwing the note onto the ground in front of him. "You're nothing but thieves!"_

 _"We're outlaws!" Anguy piped up. "Outlaws_ steal _. You're lucky we didn't kill yeh."_

 _"Come try it, archer," the Hound stepped forward, but was yanked back by Thoros before he could finish his threat. "I'll shove those arrows up your arse!"_

 _"You can't let him go! He's a murderer! He's_ guilty _!" Arya yelled._

 _"Not in the eyes of god," Beric said, his voice tired._

 _"You can't!"_

 _"ENOUGH!" he bellowed as Anguy was handed the Hound's weapons. "The judgment isn't ours to make." Beric cocked his head at Anguy, who tossed the effects back to their owner. "Go in peace, Sandor Clegane. The Lord of Light isn't done with you yet."_

 _Without another word, the Hound was flanked by two brothers and a hood was thrust over his head. He was escorted out of the cavern as swiftly as possible. And Arya hoped that since the Lord of Light couldn't have him killed, then hopefully this would be the last she ever saw of him._

 _"Arya," Gendry muttered, grabbing her arm._

 _She knew he meant it as a comforting gesture, but she didn't want comfort at that moment. She wrenched herself free and stormed off, finding a quiet spot behind a rock in the darkness. She curled up, resting her side against the rock. She wrapped her arms around herself and did something she hadn't done in a long time. She let her angry tears fall._

 _She cried for Mycah. Joffrey had lied and Cersei sent the Hound after an innocent boy. He had died so young and so brutally for something she had done. And no one cared. No one, not even the Red God, cared except for her._

 _As Arya wiped at her cheeks, she couldn't stop thinking about the split second where she saw his body. The image had plagued her dreams ever since. And even then, as she sat there behind that rock, she pictured the boy, slung over the large black horse that had almost bitten her in the stables at Winterfell. They seemed so real, standing before her. She could see Mycah's face, frozen in terror, staring at her, asking why he had to die because she defended him from the prince._

 _Arya squeezed her eyes shut and clasped at her forehead. Her small body shaking, she finally opened her eyes again. And now, sitting on the back of the horse was a new ghost._

 _The woman sat side-saddle, draped in a dirty black cloak, splattered with blood. From what Arya could see under the cloak, the woman's dress was stained with more blood. Her neck was bruised and her face was scraped. Her gray-green eyes were shining, but her face was stoic. Her long chestnut brown hair was braided from the top, flowing down to her elbows. She stared ahead, towards the opening of the cavern, where the Hound had just been taken through._

 _Arya shut her eyes again and curled into a tighter ball, the visions of not only Mycah, but Fallon as well were too much. She rocked back and forth and tried her hardest to shut her mind off._

 _"Joffrey. Cersei. Ilyn Payne. Ser Meryn. The Hound," she sharply whispered to herself. "Joffrey. Cersei. Ilyn Payne. Ser Meryn. The Hound."_

 _Arya repeated the list until she finally felt alone. She sat there, behind the rock, holding herself, and crying, until some of the brothers returned from a hunt with rabbits and squirrels._

* * *

 **Whaaaat? An all Arya chapter that's also 99% stuff taken from the show? Am I being lazy or am I building tension? (pls don't answer that; pls just love me)**


	35. Sore Eyes

**Rain had been** falling since I'd dragged myself out of bed in the morning. I could hear it pounding on the roof all day. It was exactly the kind of weather that made me feel both sleepy and sad.

"Put a smile on your face, you look miserable."

I looked up from the table I was cleaning and found the woman with black hair grinning in front of me. _Of course I'm miserable_ , I wanted to say. _I just narrowly escaped both getting raped and starving to death, I don't know where my love is, I'm as alone as I've ever been, I spent three days ill in bed because I could hold no food or drink down, and now that I'm feeling better I have to clean after the drunken sods here to pay off my debt_.

But she had been kind to me. The woman I had mistakenly believed was just a barmaid had ended up being the daughter of the innkeeper, who had let her take charge of the tavern. She had taken me in in my time of need, and even gave me an old dress of hers to wear. I couldn't be rude to her, it wasn't warranted. And it just wasn't in my nature.

"I'll do my best, Loralye," I told her, forcing the corners of my lips to turn up.

"That's all I ask, Ella," she sighed playfully, grabbing a mug from the table we were at.

I gulped when Loralye used the false name I had given her. I had panicked when she asked the morning after she had given me the room, but I was able to pull the name Ella from the recesses of my brain just in time.

"Remind me where you hail from," Loralye looked at me from under her black eyebrows.

"Oh, er, a bit from here, a bit from there," I told her. It was less of a lie, more of an absence of detail. "I've been traveling recently."

"Aye," she regarded me as if she knew more than she was letting on. "And who was that frightfully big man you were traveling with?"

I looked down at the table and thought about what I should say. "He was my protector," I finally said. Again, an absence of detail.

"Your protector?" Loralye asked. "What was he protecting you from?"

"My own stupidity," I said darkly.

Loralye cocked a brow and slung the rag over her shoulder so she could pick up the mugs. She looked like she was about to ask me one more thing when the door to the kitchens opened up. Her dark-haired boy, Collyn, stepped through and walked over to our table.

"Mum, they're back," he muttered.

"Who?" Loralye furrowed her brow, putting the mugs down and grabbing her hips instead.

"The Brotherhood," Collyn specified. "I saw them coming."

Having successfully wiped away the crumbs and spilt ale from the table, I moved along and hoped that Loralye wouldn't become any more suspicious of me before I'd paid off my debt. I started cleaning the next tabletop, scrubbing around the man who was sitting there, picking under his fingernails with his dagger.

"They're not fooling us into letting them not pay again," Loralye wagged a finger at her son. "If I hear Thoros tell me one more time how Wylla on the crossroads lets him eat and drink for free, I swear I'll…"

She had trailed off, but I felt my body freeze at her words. _Thoros_. I began to wonder if perhaps it was the same Red priest I had befriended prior to Ned Stark's execution.

 _No_ , I told myself. _It's too good to be true._

"Those bloody bandits," Loralye shook her head. "Think they can drink all our ale just because they fought the Mountain on the wolf's orders?"

The man picking at his fingernails looked up at me and I resumed cleaning the table. But I couldn't stop thinking about what she was saying. I tried to wrack my brain so I could remember what felt familiar about her words.

"Ah, well," Loralye sighed and put her hands on Collyn's cheeks. "Best get back, my dear. Many thanks for the warning." She kissed the seven year-old's forehead and grabbed his shoulders to turn him back around.

I felt her eyes on me as I moved to another table and I prayed she wouldn't continue her interrogation of me. If she knew of the Mountain, she likely knew of the Hound. When Nymeria had returned me to civilization and I stumbled through the doors, Loralye had remembered my _protector_ having a "burned-up face", one of his more recognizable characteristics. I wasn't sure enough of Loralye's loyalty to the Crown to risk telling her too much. Would she have turned me in if there was a bounty on me? She seemed nice enough, but Sandor had warned me far too many times not to be so trusting of people.

There was a pang in my heart at the mere thought of Sandor's name. I wanted to find him with every fibre of my being, but I felt helpless. It had been so many days since I last saw him in this very tavern and he was the expert tracker, not me. If I had set off on my own, with my luck, I'd be riding Shevaun in the opposite direction of him. In a strange way, I felt like my chances were better staying here until I received more information.

"If my son is correct and the Brotherhood comes in, I'll be needing your help, Ella. And you'd best be smiling," Loralye smirked.

"'Til my cheeks hurt," I assured her, forcing another grin.

Just then, the door the tavern swung open. A large group of men, sopping wet from the rain, came loudly parading in. I took one glance at the party and turned to another table. There was a sticky puddle of half-dried wine on the top and I started scrubbing at it. The scent of the drink hit my nose sharply and I leaned my head away from it, afraid of what it might do to my stomach.

"You've returned, lads," said Loralye when they had quieted down.

I spared a moment to look over at the black-haired woman. Her irritated tone from before had disappeared completely. Now she was all smiles and softly clapping her hands together.

"The usual?" she asked. "Ale, brown bread, and stew?"

"You know us too well, Loralye," a deep voice said.

"Well, you've been the most consistent men in my life since Collyn's father ran off with that Dornish girl," Loralye cooed.

"And what a fool he was for doing so," the deep voice said. "Come, sit with us. We've missed you."

"But not before you've fed and watered us," another man drawled.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. The second person sounded breathy, lazy, and familiar. And if he was who I thought he was, the sound of his voice made me feel conflicted. If it truly was Thoros, it would have been a delight to see him again, but he might recognize me and my blow my cover to Loralye.

"Your company is always desired, but we've worked up quite an appetite after our hunt," the familiar man continued, garnering a loud cheer from his men.

"Well, lucky for you, my friends, we've more help around here since you visited last," Loralye said. "Ella, dear, please get these men some ale. Tell Collyn they'd like brown bread and stew as well."

Afraid to turn my head too much, I barely glanced over my shoulder and nodded. I threw my rag over my shoulder and hurried into the kitchen to obey. When I came out, carrying as many mugs as I possibly could in one arm, with a pitcher of ale in the other, I finally saw the large group of men sitting at two different tables that had been pushed together. Loralye had pulled a seat up to the head of one table, her body leaning towards one of the men. He was a handsome fellow with dark hair and a beard. A quiver of arrows sat on his back and he had a large bow resting against the table.

I felt a lump grow in my throat when I saw a man in faded red with shaggy blonde hair that curled due to the rainwater. His back was to me, fortunately, but that didn't mean he wouldn't see me eventually. Anxiety flowed through my body as I came closer. I could practically hear my heart pounding in my chest.

"You've been busy, I see," Loralye said flirtatiously, her hand on the bearded man's forearm.

"Someone has to keep these woods safe," he smirked at her.

"And what are you keeping me safe from, Anguy?" she crooned.

"We've been hunting lions," the voice I recognized as Thoros' interjected. "Raiding party of about twenty. Traveled a day's ride south for 'em. Might've lost a little lady on the way, but…"

I came up to the large group, standing behind the Red priest, as I felt it would be the best way to hide myself. I reached over his shoulder and placed the pitcher in the middle of the table.

"Ah, finally," Thoros breathed. "This pitcher's a sight for sore eyes, innit?" He angled his head upwards as if to address me, but I moved away to start placing mugs before the men. I could have sworn his eyes followed me, but I tried to pay him no heed. "I could marry you right now."

"You'd best not take Ella from me," Loralye grinned up at me. "A bit morose, but she's some of the best help I've ever had. I'll cry the day she's paid her debt to me."

"She owes you a debt?" one of the men who hadn't spoken yet looked up at me. "What for?"

I turned away as soon as I ran out of mugs, but I could hear Ella try to explain to the men as delicately as she could.

"Ella's traveling, you see. She came with a man, planning only to spend a night. They paid for a room and two stalls in our stables…"

I returned to the kitchens and found Collyn ladling the stew from the vat into two large buckets for the men. He looked at me curiously, but said nothing, allowing for me to grab more mugs for the table, including one for Loralye if she wanted to partake with them.

"…fell ill, the poor thing. I let her stay until she recovered and now she's working it off. I do hope she'll stay, though."

"Well, gents, I suppose once we've all filled our cups, we should raise them to this dear sweet Ella. Loralye's friends are our friends," Thoros said, pouring ale into his mug from the pitcher.

I tried not to wrinkle my nose at the smell too much. In fact, remembering Loralye's orders before this group of men entered her establishment, I forced a smile as I continued to hand out mugs.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" I asked Loralye in a hushed voice once I was finished, my back to Thoros' body in case he looked over.

"Ah, a shy one, she is," murmured Anguy, covering Loralye's hand on his arm with his gloved finger. "Do we scare you?"

"Leave her be," Loralye admonished him playfully before turning back to me. "Go on and help Collyn bring the food, dear."

I bowed my head and hurried back into the kitchen. I hoped that I could make it through without having too much attention put on me. The sooner the men were finished in the tavern, the better.

When I entered the kitchen, I stacked together several bowls and grabbed one of the buckets of stew. Collyn grabbed the other and stacked two loaves of bread. He used his back to open the door to the kitchen and hold it for me. I nodded my thanks and ambled through the tavern to the large group, Collyn at my elbow.

"Ah, there it is," Anguy smiled as the boy and I carried the food across the tavern.

I looked at the ground below me, careful not to spill any stew or drop any bowls. I could feel at least some of the men watching me as I walked. Without a word, I lifted my bucket and put it down on the side of the table where Loralye and Anguy sat, then I started giving out bowls.

"Er, Loralye," Thoros piped up. "What did you say your help's name was, again?"

"Ella," she answered. "Why? Are you interested?"

My mouth felt dry. I could tell Thoros was watching me. I found myself praying to every god I knew that he wouldn't say anything.

"She's _very_ pretty," the bearded man in a yellow cloak that I was placing a bowl in front of purred at me.

"She reminds me of someone," Thoros said quickly, casting the yellow-cloaked man a dirty look. "An old friend."

"You've got friends besides us?" another man chortled.

Ignoring him, Thoros turned his kind blue eyes up to me once more, forcing me to meet them. He seemed to be telling me something, but I couldn't quite read it.

"She was a lovely girl," he said out loud. "I met her in King's Landing. We had a nice chat in a tavern down there. Told me I was the worst priest she'd ever met."

Both Thoros and his men laughed. I smiled genuinely for the first time that day.

"Smart girl," Anguy snickered.

"I was led to believe she might be dead, but…I'll always have hope that Fallon's still out there," Thoros continued, staring straight at me. "I would like to see her at least once more."

"I hope one day you'll meet again," I bowed my head to him.

" _Fallon_ , did you say?" the man in the yellow cloak piped up. "Wasn't that the girl you went on about in the trial?"

"The very same, Lem," Thoros sighed.

"Hound said she was dead, didn't he?" Lem furrowed his brow.

I felt my heart skip a beat. They had spoken to Sandor. He must have been close. And he thought I was dead… But what was that about a trial?

"Clegane only said she was taken from him," Thoros corrected Lem. "No one knows for sure what's become of her."

"Poor dear," Loralye crooned, not realizing who exactly she was talking about as she turned to glance at me. "You may take an hour's leave, Ella. You've worked very hard for me, but I think I can handle it from here."

"Many thanks," I nodded to her. I offered Thoros a small smile and scurried back into the kitchens to hang up the apron tied around my waist, trading it for my gray cloak.

"Begging your pardon, sweet boy," I looked at Collyn over my shoulder.

Still stirring his vat of stew, Collyn met my eyes.

"I'm on my way to visit my horse in the stables. She'll be utterly upset with me if I come empty-handed, won't she?" I smiled at him.

"Take some," Collyn cocked his head towards the carrots that sat on his chopping board on a nearby table.

"Thank you, sweet boy," I took them and left the kitchen, my cloak hanging over my arm as I went.

I strode through the tavern, not feeling Thoros' eyes until I went past him. I wanted to throw my arms around him and tell him how happy I was to see him and to know he was still alive and well, but I knew it wasn't the best idea to keep me safe. I ignored his gaze and kept on walking.

Fastening my cloak around me and throwing the hood over my head, I opened the door to the tavern and stepped out into the rain. Heavy drops were falling on the earth, causing the mud puddles to splash up. There was no way I was going to make it to the stables without getting dirty, but I found myself grasping at my skirts anyway and making a break for it. Though I slipped two or three times on my way, I was thankful that I managed to reach the stables without falling onto the ground. Once inside, I lowered my hood and pulled my carrots out, approaching Shevaun's stall.

My heart felt heavy as I passed the empty stall beside hers. I wondered when Sandor had come to collect his angry horse. Was it before or after he'd given up on finding me alive?

Shevaun nickered and lowered her head over the gate to her stall, sniffing at the carrots in my hand. I raised one and allowed her to eat it. We stayed silent for a moment, hearing naught but the rain falling and the crunching coming from my horse's mouth.

"There you go, girl," I muttered, stroking at her nose softly with one hand, feeding her the second carrot with the other. "Nice and easy."

"You've cut your hair."

I jumped at the sound of another person's voice. I hadn't heard the man approach due to the heavy rainfall. But I felt much calmer when I saw the priest standing at the entrance of the stable.

"Not by choice, I assure you," I smiled bitterly, touching my brown tresses.

"It's been some time, sweet Fallon," he said as he came closer.

"Aye, it has, Thoros of Myr," I grinned at him in his wet surcoat.

"You're supposed to be dead. I had a drink in your memory and everything."

"Yes, well, I appreciate the sentiment, though I feel you wouldn't have needed much more of an excuse."

"You know me too well," Thoros sighed, finally stopping in front of me. "I wish I knew you as well as you know me. Who, pray tell, is this _Ella_ supposed to be?"

I felt my cheeks heat up at his question. "She, er, she was a scullery maid I knew long ago."

"Please, tell me more," Thoros reached out and scratched Shevaun under her chin.

"She was employed at Winterfell," I began. "She caught me sneaking food out of the kitchens when I was a child. Grabbed me right by the wrist and told me she was taking me to Lord Rickard and Lady Lyarra to be punished. But then Lyanna happened upon us. She saw me, not yet six years of age, skin and bones, with raggedy hair and fear in my eyes, and she ordered Ella to let me go. She lied for me. Said she had asked me to fetch her the bread and cheese I had. Ella didn't release me until Lyanna insisted she would tell her parents about my mistreatment."

"And how long have you been using her name?" Thoros asked.

"Not very long," I shrugged my shoulders. "It seemed the safest course of action after I was…"

"Taken from the Hound?" Thoros filled in.

I nodded glumly.

"I've known Clegane for many years," he said. "Don't think I've ever seen him happy. But I'd bet good money he'll be as close to that as ever when he sees you again."

"When did you see him last?" I asked. "I heard you and your men bring up a trial. Is he in trouble?"

"We were tasked by Ned to bring the Mountain to justice not long before Stark was executed. We found the Mountain, but ultimately failed in our mission. My men found your _friend_ just a few days before this and decided that he could answer for his brother's crimes. He denied any wrongdoing, but another friend of yours accused him of an unrelated murder. He fought Beric in a trial by combat and the Lord of Light deemed him innocent and allowed him to win."

 _Or, more likely, Sandor was the better fighter_ , I couldn't help thinking.

"We haven't seen him since," Thoros finished.

"But he's nearby?" I asked hopefully.

"Could be."

"Wait—you said another friend of mine was there. Who were you talking about?" I furrowed my brow.

"I believe you once said she was like a sister to you," he gave me a toothy grin.

"Arya?" I gasped. Happiness shot through my body when I realized what he was saying. "She's with you? She's safe?"

Thoros's lips slowly pressed together. "I'm afraid she ran off two nights ago. We weren't able to find her."

A knot grew in my throat. I felt my eyes welling up, but I hoped I wouldn't cry in front of Thoros.

"Sh-She's a smart girl," I stammered. "If she's made it this far—"

"We were going to bring her to Riverrun. Her family's there," Thoros cut me off, a look of guilt in his eyes. "She was upset when Clegane won the trial. She was upset when we sold her blacksmith friend to the priestess…"

I furrowed my brow but didn't ask anything else. That information wouldn't have helped me find her or Sandor.

"…And she was upset when we got sidetracked with the lion hunt that brought us here to you," Thoros patted my arm with his gloved hand. "She's likely on her way to Riverrun. Little wolf seems to know her bearings, if that makes you feel any better."

"It doesn't," I admitted, chuckling bitterly. "But I am relieved to know that she's alive. I've worried about her every day since the Lannisters turned against the Starks."

"She still cares about you," Thoros told me. "Should've seen how she reacted when she thought you were dead. Accused Clegane of murdering you too."

I sighed and glanced down at my feet. "She doesn't know him the way I do. No one does."

"That's because he won't let anyone else know him the way you do. You're lucky…I suppose," Thoros shrugged.

"Do…do you know where he is?" I asked, stroking at Shevaun's neck. Out of nowhere, I started to feel lightheaded. The sound of rain began to mute, as did my own voice. "Please. I need to find him."

"It's been days since I last saw that ugly face of his," Thoros shook his head. "I'd have a better chance of finding the Stark girl." He then grabbed onto my free hand with both of his. "Are you alright, Fallon? You look pale."

"I h-haven't been feeling well lately," I told him. "That's why I'm here, with Loralye. Didn't she tell you?"

"She did," Thoros said. "And I told her I was feeling more generous than usual. Paid the rest of your debt off, my darling. Everyone seems to think I did it to spend a night with you, but…Fallon?"

The concern in Thoros' kind blue eyes was the last thing I saw before darkness clouded my vision and my body became weightless.


	36. A Friend of the Starks

**_Arya Stark glowered_** _ahead of her. She was sat sidesaddle on the base of the horse's neck, her arm reluctantly coiled around the Hound's waist. She stared at the open field they were heading into, looking out at the water just beyond, wishing she had actually gone through with her plans to bludgeon him that morning._

 _She'd been trying to get away from the Hound ever since he grabbed her in the woods when she ran away from the Brotherhood. He had been lying in wait, probably to steal his gold back from the traitors, and taken her instead when she fled in the night._

 _She thought she had been clever this particular morning. She'd found a stone and approached him with it, holding it near her head, ready to cave his skull in. Unfortunately for her, he had been awake. He was ready for her, as if he knew she would try. He even taunted her, telling her to do it. Then calmly said if she failed to kill him he'd break both of her hands. Arya liked to think that if the weight of the stone hadn't started to make her arms shake—it_ was _just the weight of the rock, wasn't it?—she would've gone for it._

 _But instead, there she was, sitting before him, not a scratch on his face nor a dent in his head. She was his prisoner. And she was in her own personal hell._

 _Behind her, Arya heard a loud crunching noise. Then, in her peripheral vision, she saw his armored hand offering her the radish he'd just bitten into. She scowled down at it and he retracted his hand. As if she'd want to eat something he'd put in his disgusting mouth._

 _"Sulk all you want," the Hound grumbled through a mouthful of radish. He reached his arm over her lap to take the reins again. "Truth is, you're lucky."_

 _There that word was again._ Lucky _. Somehow Arya felt less lucky than she did the last time she was told so._

 _"You don't want to be alone out here, girl," the Hound continued. "Someone worse than me would find you."_

 _"There's no one worse than you," Arya retorted._

 _"Heh, you never knew my brother. He once killed a man for snoring," the Hound said. "There's plenty worse than me. There's men who like to_ beat _little girls, men who like to rape them. Saved yer sister from some of them."_

 _Arya fell silent. She didn't believe him at all. There was no way he would ever save anyone, let alone Sansa. "You're lying."_

 _"Ask her, if you ever see her again. Ask her who came back for her when the mob had her on her back. They would've taken her every which way and left her there with her throat cut open," the Hound said. He was quiet for a moment. Then his voice seemed to change. "Saved yer handmaiden a time or two."_

 _Arya felt her insides freeze over. Hearing him lie about Sansa was enough to turn her stomach, but lying about Fallon was too much._

 _"She could've told you loads of things. Saved her from a rabid dog. Saved her when the City Watch turned against yer daddy. Saved her from the queen—she would've had the songbird gutted in the purge if I hadn't told her she was loyal to the Crown," the Hound continued._

 _If Arya had let her fool herself into thinking he actually had a conscience, she would have thought there was true grief weaving throughout his words._

 _"But you didn't save her the last time," Arya said woodenly._

 _The Hound's body went rigid alongside her. He slowed the horse down to a stop and Arya wondered if he was going to hurt her for saying this. Part of her didn't care. It would only prove that her feelings towards him were true._

 _But the Hound didn't say a word. Arya glanced over her shoulder and saw his ugly, scarred face. He was staring out at the water in the distance, his mouth carved into a frown above his scruffy beard._

 _"Is that the Blackwater?" she dared to ask._

 _"The_ Blackwater _?" he echoed, sounding back to his standard grumpy self. "Where do you think I'm taking you?"_

 _Arya whipped her head around and stared at him full-on. He was still watching the water, ignoring her eyes._

 _"Back to King's Landing," she said, looking down at the ground. "To Joffrey and the queen."_

 _"Fuck Joffrey. Fuck the queen," the Hound spat as his horse bucked its head a few times._

 _Arya looked at him once again. She was surprised at his words and almost,_ almost _, felt a modicum of respect for them as well. He'd been Joffrey's loyal guard dog for so long. He'd murdered Mycah for him. Who knows how many other lives he'd ended? What on earth had happened for the Hound to finally have enough?_

 _"And the songbird said you were a smart girl…"_

The songbird _? Arya furrowed her brow._ That's the second time he's called Fallon that…

 _"That's the Red Fork," The Hound rudely interrupted her thoughts. "I'm taking you to the Twins."_

 _Arya looked at the water once more, then turned her head without committing to look at the Hound. "But why?"_

 _"Because your mother and brother will be there. And they'll pay me for you."_

 _Arya felt something creeping throughout her body. Hope. She was going to see her family again. That is…if the Hound was telling her the truth._

 _"Why would they be at the Twins?" she asked distrustfully, just before the horse neighed._

 _The Hound chuckled under his breath. "Those outlaws yeh love so much never told you? The whole countryside's yapping about it. Your uncle's marrying one of the Frey girls. So quit trying to bash my skull in and we might just make it in time for the wedding."_

 _Arya turned away from him, staring forward again as he urged his horse on. Despite being in the clutches of the Hound, she felt herself smiling for the first time in a long time. All she had to do was suffer through her time with the Hound and then she could feel her mother's warm embrace again._

* * *

Removing one of my arms from around Thoros' waist, I used my hand to wipe a stray hair across my forehead. I looked behind me and saw Anguy carefully watching me, waiting for me to fall off the horse into the mud below. Beside him, Shevaun was keeping up with his lead as Thoros had insisted if I ride at all, I ride with him.

The rain had started letting up by the time I'd convinced the Myrish drunkard to take me with him. By now it was a sprinkling. It would soon be more mist than anything.

"How are you feeling?" Thoros asked, his head over his shoulder.

"Much better," I told him honestly.

Thoros had caught me in his arms after I fainted in the stables, then gently laid me down on the ground, patting my cheeks to wake me up. He wanted me to stay at the inn until I was better, but I refused. Loralye had been so good to me, but knowing that Sandor could be so near…

"I'm not opposed to turning around and bringing you back," Thoros added.

"No. I'll be fine," I said for what felt like the millionth time.

"You'd be much safer with Loralye and her boy, and the promise of a nice warm bed," he continued.

"What's the point of a nice warm bed if Sandor's not there to share it with me?" I asked, feeling a smirk take over my mouth.

Thoros turned his head once again, showing his uneven teeth to me. "When did my sweet Fallon become such a saucy lass?"

"You've a lot to learn about me, Thoros of Myr," I deadpanned.

"Fucking hell, girl," he chuckled, turning back to face forward. He reached down into his saddlebag and grabbed something dark. "Here, trade your hood for mine."

I looked at the cloth sack he was handing me from behind his back. "Do I have to?"

"It's best you don't see where we're going," Thoros told me, leaning forward and dropping it in my lap when I didn't take either of my hands off his middle.

"Do you really think I'd be able to find my way through these woods to your secret lair?" I asked. "I'm flattered, but I'm afraid my only skills are playing music and braiding hair, not tracking. All of these trees and streams look the same to me."

"Put it on, Fallon, or I'm bringing you back."

Not wanting to test his threat, I let go with one hand and slid the hood of my cloak down the back of my neck so I could replace it with Thoros'. Though I was shrouded in darkness, I was able to find his waist again, holding on tighter now that I couldn't see.

"Not much longer, my sweet," Thoros breathed. "Only a few hours more."

* * *

"Let me get this straight," the man carrying me started. "You are _not_ a barmaid named Ella?"

"Alas, no," I sighed, my arms tight around his neck as we descended—into what, I had no idea, but I could hear the sound of a waterfall nearby.

"But you _are_ that Fallon woman?" the man asked.

I wondered how many times I would be having this very conversation. For the first time I was thankful to be wearing Thoros' hood. It meant I could roll my eyes as much as I wanted.

"I am," I told him.

"Leave the bloody girl alone, Wallis," moaned the voice of Anguy from behind us.

 _My savior_ , I thought.

Without a word, Wallis put me back on my feet. He waited until I felt steady enough and then grabbed one of my elbows. There was another hand on my other elbow, which I assumed belonged to Anguy. The two men led me further into wherever we were going. Though I could tell there were torches traveling along with other members of the Brotherhood, the air felt cold and damp.

After a few twists and turns, both men let go of me. I stood there, blind, feeling the most alone I had ever felt in my life. A moment later, a hand grabbed the hood and gently took it off my head.

"There she is," Thoros murmured across from me, smiling at me before handing the hood to another man. "Welcome home."

I looked past his shoulder and saw a firepit in the dark cavern. Lem stood near it, stoking the small flames so they could grow. What little light the fire provided showed me the large amount of men in the cave, much more than the small group at the tavern, some mulling around, some carrying the spoils of their encounter with the Lannister raiding party.

"This is your secret lair?" I asked, looking into Thoros' blue eyes.

"Not just mine," he told me. "The Brotherhood Without Banners'. We're humble men. We fight for no one but the people."

"And you reap all the gold," I said, glancing at a man carrying a coin purse as he walked past us.

"And yet, none of it seems to be enough," he sighed. Then he looked around as if this were his first time being here as well. "You're sure this is where you'd rather be? Surrounded by filthy men in a cave?"

"I'm sure, Thoros," I told him, starting to feel annoyed.

"And you are feeling better?" he asked.

"You can stop asking me that any time you like."

"I'm worried about you."

"Have I fainted again?"

Thoros pressed his lips tightly together. "I can bring you back to the inn at first light if you change your mind."

"I won't," I said firmly. "I appreciate the concern, but I am _fine_."

He stared at me for what felt like a long time. Then his lips cracked into a reluctant smile and he patted me on the shoulder.

"Come. There's someone I want you to meet."

I followed Thoros deeper into the cave. The brothers stared at me as we went. I made sure to walk close beside the priest.

"Well, well, well, Thoros," a thickset man with a bald head grinned as he stepped in front of us. "The others returned with gold and steel, but you…you've brought back a _real_ treasure. Tell me, is she just for you or are you going to share?"

"Fallon is not my prisoner," Thoros responded, his words sounding unnaturally icy. "And she is not to be touched. Not by you. Not by anyone."

"Who is she? Your wife?" the man chortled. "Didn't think you priests were allowed to get married."

"Step aside, Melvan."

The bald man smirked at Thoros for a moment, then looked me up and down before walking off.

"Ignore him," Thoros said.

"I'll try my best," I nodded.

"He won't hurt you while I'm around," he vowed. "I'll make sure of that."

"Thank you," I smiled wistfully. How lucky I was to have friends like Thoros of Myr.

He led me past a throng of brothers who were sifting through a pile of dark red armor to see what would fit who. We found a lone man was sitting on a rock, sipping from a wineskin, half of his body hidden from us. Thoros cleared his throat and the man sat up, turning his head slightly to the side. The one eye I could see widened as he took us in.

"I hate to ambush you with another woman, old friend, but this one's quite special to me," Thoros put his hand on my shoulder blade.

"My apologies, my lady," the man twisted his body and stood up before me. His appearance shocked me enough that I forgot to correct him for calling me his lady.

The one eye I had seen was his only eye remaining. The lids on his right side had been sewn over the socket, but that wasn't all. He tried to hide the angry scars that littered his torso by tying the front of his shirt back up, but I saw them. All wounds that looked as if they should be fatal, including the warped skin around his neck.

He once would have been considered very handsome, I surmised. He had short sandy blonde hair and a matching beard that framed his weathered face. His remaining eye was a piercing shade of green. The way he stared at me with it made me feel like he could read my thoughts. Perhaps then he could tell me why I thought he looked a bit familiar.

"Fallon, you might remember Beric Dondarrion," Thoros introduced.

"Beric Dondarrion?" I repeated him, then I quickly sank into a curtsy for the first time in a long time. "Forgive me, my lord."

"Please, there's no need for that," Beric said.

"Of course not. My apologies," I stood up, hoping he couldn't see how red my face was in the darkness of the cave.

"You've nothing to apologize for," he offered me a smile. "What was your name again?"

"Fallon," I answered.

"You might remember her from your days in the court of King Robert. A lovely voice she's got," Thoros said.

"I thought I recognized you," Beric hummed. "You sang in his chamber once. Thoros was there as well. You were with that troupe of musicians. What was the ginger's name? The one with the scar—Rupert, wasn't it?"

"Ruban," I corrected, wondering what had ever happened to him and Vernyn after Sterlan was killed and Elras fled the castle with his girl. I suddenly felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of Sterlan's execution.

"Ruban, that's it. I must say, Ruban's troupe seemed to improve tenfold when you joined them," Beric said.

"You're too kind," I beamed at him.

He nodded his head once to me and then glanced at Thoros. "Is this the Fallon you performed your little candle trick with?"

"The very same," Thoros smirked. "Lord of Light took her straight to the Hound's room, of all places."

"Did it, now?" Beric looked at me and then reached over to touch his left shoulder. "Clegane is your friend?"

"…And then some," I cocked my head to the side.

"I knew it," Thoros snickered. "I knew it before _you_ even knew it."

"Aye, that you did," I chuckled in spite of myself. Then I looked straight into Beric's eye. "Which is why I'm here, my lord—sorry."

Beric ignored my apology. "You're the woman who was taken from him."

"I am," I nodded.

"I'm afraid I can't be of much help to you, my dear," Beric hung his head momentarily. "It's been many days since we sent him on his way. He could be anywhere."

"None of your men have seen him?" I asked hopefully.

"Not that I'm aware of."

I nodded silently, heaviness sitting on my chest. "I take it he didn't say where he might go."

" _I_ take it _you_ would've known better than anyone else," Beric looked at me.

"Wish that I did," I sighed.

Beric took a deep breath. "I have no information for you, Fallon, but you are welcome to stay with us as long as you like. I'll have our scouts look out for any signs of Clegane."

"Can't imagine it would be hard to find him," Thoros said. "He's bound to cause a ruckus anywhere he goes. We'll be sure to hear of him soon, I imagine."

"Many thanks," I said. My eyes were welling up and I was unsure of whether it was from my sadness from just missing Sandor— _and_ Arya—or if I was touched by Beric's kindness.

"Can you hunt?" the one-eyed lord asked me.

"I'm sorry," I shook my head. "As I was telling Thoros on our way here, I can't do much more than sing and braid hair… It's been awhile since I've sewed something, but I'm sure if given a needle and thread I might be able to mend some clothes."

"That would be much appreciated," Beric nodded. "Perhaps we can have Anguy teach you how to shoot. Now that we have yet another mouth to feed, we'll need as much food as we can find."

"Of course," I nodded. "I'll do whatever I can to be of use." I reached out and grabbed his free hand in both of mine. "I cannot thank you enough."

Beric smiled at me modestly. "Ned Stark trusted you to take care of his daughter. I had much respect for that man. Any friend of the Starks is a friend of mine."


	37. Created By Fire

**"You're doing…well."**

"I'm not, but thank you for lying."

"You're… _new_."

"You said 'shit' wrong," I lowered the bow I was borrowing and looked sheepishly at Anguy behind me. "I think I'm better off learning which berries are poisonous. That'll be more helpful when it comes to finding food than losing all your arrows in the woods."

"Look at all these trees, Fallon. I can make more arrows any time I like," Anguy gestured to the forestry around us. "You're never going to get any better if you don't try."

A dull feeling of melancholy spread throughout my body at his words. I remembered tiny fingers stumbling over lute strings and patient words above my head. I could practically feel the pain in my fingertips being kissed away by loving lips, my hair being pushed out of my eyes, my tears of frustration being wiped away.

"My mother used to say that to me," I said.

"It's good advice," Anguy shrugged, stepping forward to retrieve the arrows that littered the ground. "Yeh didn't do _completely_ terrible, Fallon," he said as he pulled the two that were sticking out of the straw man—one hit his leg, the other his arm.

"Oh, well, thank you very much," I chuckled at my ineptitude.

"Your little lady was good. I figure you're not the one who taught 'er," Anguy smirked at me as he put the arrows back in his quiver.

"I was her _handmaiden_ , not Master-at-Arms," I corrected. "Apart from keeping her clean and braiding her hair, her mother and father paid me to keep her out of trouble. That included keeping the weapons _out_ of her hands."

"Must not have done a great job of it, then," Anguy folded his arms across his chest.

"There was only so much I could do," I snickered as I shrugged my shoulders. "And only so much I _wanted_ to do. Arya was never meant to be a _lady_. Not many seemed to understand that about her."

I felt my smile start to falter. A memory popped into my head when I glanced at the straw man with the helm atop his head.

"Ned did, though," I said. "When she was younger, she snuck away while I was getting my lute restrung. Ned found her outside, practicing archery after Ser Rodrik finished with her brothers. He told me later that he had never been so proud of her than he was when she finally got a bullseye."

"Attagirl. Proves yer mum and me right, doesn't she?" Anguy said, tapping on the bow. "Allow me to give you more advice, Fallon. Same advice I gave the Stark girl."

"Please do," I muttered.

"Don't aim," he told me, standing behind me as I nocked a new arrow. "You're too much in your own 'ead. You should never aim. Yer eye knows where it wants to go."

"How goes it, chums?"

I turned my head and saw Thoros leaning against a tree by us, wineskin in hand. I wondered how long he had been standing there.

"Oh, please leave. I can't bear to embarrass myself in front of _you_ as well," I winced, lowering the bow so the arrow pointed at the ground.

"Come now, Fallon. I've seen you drunk," Thoros pointed at me. "And I've seen you the morning _after_ you were drunk. You'd have to be _spectacularly_ awful to embarrass yourself in front of me."

"She's got potential," Anguy reported. "She just needs to stop overthinkin' it and practice."

"Go on," Thoros took a seat on a nearby stump. "Show us how it's done, sweet Fallon."

Trying to swallow the lump in my throat, I lifted the bow and drew the arrow. Gods, I hoped I would do alright.

"Elbow up," Anguy whispered in my ear. "And stay out of yer 'ead."

Without another thought, I released the arrow. The three of us watched as it went whizzing over what would have been considered the shoulder of the straw man and disappeared into the trees.

"…Perhaps," Thoros broke the momentary silence, "a little time spent on aiming wouldn't hurt."

* * *

"I used to be so pretty, 'fore I lost my hair," said the thickset bald man as he took a drink from his canteen. "Girls used to beg for me on their hands and knees. ' _Oh, Melvan Gatins, kiss us, please!_ '"

The shrill voice he used for his imitation sent chills down my spine. I forced a smile as most of the brothers sitting around the fire with us laughed along with the man.

"Show us yer technique, Gatins," a man with curly blonde hair chortled.

"It's only for masters," Gatins held out his hands, a smug look on his face.

"Oh, go on," another man said.

I felt myself inching my body closer to Anguy, who sat next to me on the rock. If Thoros wasn't there to protect me, surely the archer would step up, wouldn't he? We had gotten quite friendly during his lessons. I'd like to think he cared for me at least a little.

He looked down at me just past his shoulder and seemed to understand why I had shifted towards him. He gave me a subtle nod and puffed his chest out a bit.

"Fine, fine," Gatins smirked, then looked around the fire. "Any volunteers?"

I stared down at my hands in my lap and picked at the dirt under my fingernails. I could feel his gleaming eyes on me. More chills went down my spine.

"Doesn't appear so," Anguy sighed loudly.

"One lit'le peck?" Gatins bargained, his eyes burning holes in my forehead.

"Doesn't. Appear. So," Anguy repeated himself.

There was a heavy silence, but I kept my head low and tried to swallow the lump in my throat.

"Don't know what you're missing, girl," the bald man loudly whispered towards me.

The way that he spoke to me made me wish I had never complained about Theon Greyjoy. The Stark's ward had bothered me and bothered me for so many years, but it was more of a minor annoyance than the way this Melvan Gatins treated me. I never felt threatened by the heir to the Iron Islands. I never feared he would hurt me.

"I'm sure she does," said the voice of Thoros as he approached the fire from behind me.

I turned over my shoulder and offered him a small smile. The priest glared at Gatins and sat on the opposite side of me on the rock.

"Tha's right, lads," Gatins eyed the surrounding men. "This girl's Thoros' wife. Not to be touched, she is."

"She's not my wife," Thoros corrected, taking a swig from his ever-present wineskin. "But she's not to be touched, that's true."

"You can't just bring a girl to our home and tell us to stay away," the curly-haired man complained.

"Aye. Justice is lonely work," another man piped up.

"You're welcome to leave and find the nearest whorehouse on the road," Anguy hissed protectively.

"Why pay for the milk when we can get the cow for free?" Gatins stared straight at me.

Before I knew what I was doing, I felt myself digging into the palm of my right hand with my left thumbnail.

"You don't want to be saying that," Thoros went rigid. "She's spoken for."

"Who by, then?" the curly-haired man asked, doubt dripping from his words.

"The last man who killed me."

I felt a hand on my shoulder and stopped digging at my palm. I turned my head and saw the man who had just spoken. Beric Dondarrion had come upon us. He let go of me and went to stand by Thoros.

 _The last man who killed him?_ I thought to myself. _All of those wounds on his body… I knew they looked fatal._

"She's with the Hound?" Gatins' eyes widened a bit. Then he seemed to hide his fear. "The dog's been gone over a week. What's he going to do?"

"He could very well find us again one day," Thoros said.

"I've known Clegane for some time," Beric added. "I've seen his wrath. You've all seen his determination. Imagine, if you will, what he might do to the man who harms someone he loves."

Silence fell over the men across the flames from us. The only sound I could hear for some time was the crackling of the fire.

"Come on, lads," Gatins stood up. "Let's go _find the nearest whorehouse on the road_."

I watched him cast Anguy a glare with his last comment. Then he turned his eyes to Thoros before fixing them on Beric.

"If we may, _my lord_ ," Gatins bowed obnoxiously.

"Aye," Beric replied, unfazed by the blatant disrespect. "A very smart decision."

The men who sat with Gatins followed him on his way out of sight. The curly-haired one stared down his nose at me. I met his eyes for a few seconds, then focused on gathering the top-half of my hair and tying it into a bun, letting the rest hang down past my shoulders.

"My apologies for their behavior, Fallon," Beric said to me after the men had walked far enough away.

"It isn't your fault," I managed a smile. "I merely wish all of the brothers could be as noble and gallant as you three."

"I wouldn't go _that_ far," Thoros snickered, taking another swig.

"I want to thank you for defending me. I appreciate it more than you'll ever know," I ignored his comment.

"Not to worry, Fallon," Anguy patted me on the shoulder. "You're in good hands."

"Here," Thoros held his skin out under my nose.

Breathing in the scent of the rum made me shudder. "Many thanks, but not tonight," I said, fearing I might be sick again.

Thoros stared at me for a moment before he playfully shook his head. "What happened to your sense of adventure?"

"More rum for you," I shrugged, avoiding his question. I didn't want him to worry. And I didn't want him to send me back to the tavern.

There was a quiet moment between the four of us at the fire. I watched the flames dance and saw Beric sit down directly across from me. He looked into the pit as well.

"I've got a question for you," Anguy broke the silence. "And I'd appreciate it staying between us, Fallon, if you catch my drift."

"G'wan," I glanced at him over my shoulder.

"You and the Hound… 'Ow can yeh love a man like that?" he asked, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"There's plenty worse than him," I told Anguy, remembering what Sandor had said to me the day I called him the worst shit in the Seven Kingdoms. "He's miles better than Gatins and his friends combined."

"Doesn't take much."

"Fair," I snickered. "But I love Sandor more than I've ever loved anyone. He's rough around the edges, yes—"

"That's an understatement if I've ever heard one," Anguy bounced his dark eyebrows.

"He's a _good man_ ," I nudged him in the ribs with my elbow in good humor. "He's treated me well. None of you were in King's Landing during the purge of the Starks. Sandor kept me safe. Well, as safe as he possibly could.

"He hid me away so the City Watch wouldn't kill me along with all of the other Stark loyalists. And after the violence…after the queen had me humiliated and lashed, Sandor took care of me. He kept me in his chamber because it was the, erm, the safest place for me to recover," I smiled wistfully at the memory.

I could feel all three of my companions watching me, not knowing what to say. They didn't appear to understand my feelings, no matter what words came out of my mouth. No one ever would, it seemed. Instead of continuing to beat this dead horse, I cleared my throat and caught Beric's eye.

"You said he was the last to kill you?" I cocked my head to the side. "Forgive me for bringing up unpleasant memories, but I find myself confused."

"I've been killed six times, my lady," Beric told me.

"I'm not a lady," I mumbled.

The corners of Beric's lips twitched into a sort of smile, but he didn't further acknowledge my comment.

"Are you a religious woman?" he asked me after a few seconds.

Beside me, Thoros snickered into his wineskin.

"Hardly," I admitted sheepishly. "I was raised to believe in the Seven. I learned some about the Old Gods during my time in the North. And through my own experiences as a child, I've come to believe that any and all gods are just stories meant to keep children in line."

Beric's lips twitched again. "Have you any faith at all?"

I shrugged. "In times of strife, I find myself praying, but only as a last resort. I know in my heart of hearts that my prayers will never be answered." I grasped at a strand of hair that had fallen forward onto my shoulder. "It's hard to have faith when your gods ignored your pleas as you cried yourself to sleep every night."

"Perhaps you prayed to the wrong gods," Beric said to me.

I started to gnaw on the inside of my cheek.

"Don't even bother trying to convert her," Thoros grinned. "I've tried myself."

"Half-heartedly, I might add," I laughed through my nose.

"Thoros has told you of our two gods?" Beric asked.

"There's two? I seem to remember you telling me differently," I gave Thoros a sidelong glance. "' _One hell. One god_ ', you said."

"What do you expect? I was drunk," Thoros guzzled down more of his rum.

"He forgot to tell you about the Great Other, I'm assuming," Beric said to me.

"Unless that's another name for the Lord of Light. I recall there being quite a list," I grinned.

"Aye, the Lord of Light knows many names, Fallon. But the Great Other is a different entity," Beric explained. "Our Lord is a god of light and love and joy. The Great Other is a god of darkness and evil and fear."

"I see," I nodded.

"I have died six times now. And the Lord of Light has brought me back six times," Beric told me. "With the help of my dear friend, Thoros."

The priest bounced his eyebrows, but said nothing.

"Old Nan…back at Winterfell," I gulped. "She used to tell stories about the undead. Wights, she called them. Is that what you are?"

"Aye," Beric said. "Though a different sort of wight than what your Old Nan likely spoke of in the North. I am a wight created by fire, not by ice. I've retained most of my humanity, though every time I've come back, I'm a bit less than I was before. Ice wights are mindless creatures, more dead than alive. They're much harder to fell than those like me, I've heard."

 _Clearly_ , I thought, but didn't say.

"Not many believed Old Nan's stories," I shivered. "I'm afraid to say I was one of the skeptics."

"The dead haven't marched in thousands of years. It's easy to see how fact becomes legend over time," Beric said kindly.

Silence fell again. On my left, Anguy slipped his gloves off and held his bare hands near the fire to warm them. On my right, Thoros nursed the last from his skin.

"I, er, I'm sorry that Sandor killed you," I said. It sounded like the right thing to say in my head, but it was clumsy on its way off my tongue.

Beric allowed himself to chuckle. "It's quite alright, sweet lady. It was the Lord's will. And by the Lord's will, I returned again."

"If you don't mind…can I see what he did to you?" I asked before I realized what I was saying.

Without a word, Beric slipped his coat off and let it fall onto the rock where he sat. He untied his shirt down to his middle and pushed the neck so his left sleeve fell off his shoulder. The freshest scar I could see on his body was dark red. It carved from his chest, up and over, and onto his back.

I shivered again, holding myself as I imagined how much pain that must have caused. But Beric once again seemed unfazed.

"Show her the others," Anguy suggested. "Show her what the Lord brought you back from."

"The first was a lance through the chest," Beric told me, gesturing to a cut not far from his heart. "That was the Mountain at the Mummer's Ford."

"Ned sent you there, didn't he?" I asked, a memory flashing back to me. "Before King Robert was killed by that boar?"

"Aye," Beric bobbed his head.

"I was there," I glanced down at my lap. "I watched that man from the Riverlands plead for help in court. His friend poured out that sack of dead fish."

"Ned sent me to bring the Mountain to justice. I failed him. But I was given a second chance at life by the Lord of Light. Had I not taken Thoros with me, I'd have been left in the darkness," Beric cast the priest a thankful glance.

"Didn't think it was going to work," Thoros muttered honestly. "I said the only words I knew and the Lord replied."

"I suppose that helped you regain your faith better than sending me through the Red Keep with naught but a candle, eh?" I rested my head on Thoros' shoulder beside me as fatigue started to hit.

"Certainly did," Thoros chuckled and put his arm around me gingerly. "Go on, Beric. Show her the rest."

"My second death was when I was stabbed in the belly," Beric loosened his shirt more, showing me the smaller cut below the first one.

"Then the arrow in the back," Anguy added. He glanced at me and held his hands up in jest. "Not from me, I promise."

Beric twisted a bit and pulled at his skin to show me the exit wound, which sat near another scar.

"Don't forget the axe in the side," Thoros breathed over my head.

"How could I?" Beric smirked.

He tightened his shirt enough so that it kept most of his chest visible. But it didn't excite me. Not like Sandor's chest ever did.

"Not long after, the Lannisters executed me for treason," Beric continued. "Couldn't decide between hanging me or stabbing me in the eye." He lifted his chin up and showed me the scars on his neck. Then flipped his eyepatch so it sat upside down on his forehead to reveal his sewn-up eye to me again.

"Then your lover," Anguy nudged me this time. I let myself smile.

"Can't say I've had much luck with the Cleganes, can I?" Beric smiled bitterly into the fire, veiling what remained of his right eye once more.

"I suppose not," I yawned.

"They've helped you keep me busy," Thoros sighed. "Doesn't get any easier, though."

Beric shook his head. "No, it doesn't."

* * *

 **Guys, I miss writing Fallon and Sandor together, but I just LOVE writing her friendship with Thoros and I am [SPOILERS] still not over "Beyond the Wall"!**

 **Who, like me, can't wait until April, though? I hope they'll release the official date soon because I can't contain myself any longer!**

 **EDIT JANUARY 4, 2019: I accidentally said man-at-arms when I meant to say Master-at-Arms, so I fixed that**


	38. The Right Thing

**It's a Christmas miracle!**

 **(The dreaded writer's block was real, friendos. My sincerest apologies.)**

* * *

 **My eyes were** met with darkness when they snapped open. I sat up and felt my chest still heaving. I tried to slow down my breathing, distracting myself from the nightmare I'd just woken from by staring at the dying fire in the pit not far away. That was when I felt it again.

"Please, no," I whispered as my stomach churned.

Wincing, I quickly stood up and grasped at my skirts. There was just enough light so that I could see not to trip over Thoros's body. Out of the corner of my eye, I could have sworn I saw him stir, but I wouldn't allow myself to worry about that. I let my feet carry me across the cavern, avoiding the other sleeping brothers.

I almost didn't make it up the rocks by the base of the waterfall, slipping when I got to the top. I fell onto my hands and knees and started retching.

In all the excitement, I didn't hear the man who had clambered after me. I didn't hear him whispering my name loudly, so as not to disturb anyone. But I felt his fingers sweeping my hair away from my face. He held it all back as I vomited onto the ground.

"My sweet, sweet Fallon," Thoros breathed behind me as my arms shook. "What am I to do with you?"

"I'm…sorry," I choked out once I was finished, wiping my hand with the back of my wrist. "I didn't…mean to…wake you…"

"There's no need to apologize," he said gently.

"I don't know…what's wrong with me," I echoed my own words to Nymeria, the night she brought me back to civilization. "Are you…going to…send me…back?"

Thoros didn't answer immediately. He let go of my hair and helped me to my feet. Then he put his hands on my shoulders. "Try to sleep. We'll set out for help at first light."

* * *

 _"It's too late," Sandor Clegane calmly said once he had grabbed ahold of the Stark girl's shoulder._

 _He turned her to face him and she stared at him with wide, glassy eyes before whipping back around to try and enter the Twins through the open gate. Expecting her to be bullheaded and foolish, Sandor made haste to punch her in the back of the skull. She grunted and he watched her fall onto the muddy ground. He grabbed her by the back of her shirt and easily hoisted her over his broad shoulder._

 _He was doing the right thing, Sandor kept telling himself as he took her away from the bloody scene, sure to step over the carved-up bodies of the Stark soldiers. If her mother and brother weren't among the dead in the castle yet, they were sure to be soon. Arya would be signing her own death warrant the moment she stepped foot inside. He was saving her life, whether she liked it or not._

 _Sandor had figured out what was occurring at the Twins not long after that guard refused their entry. Frustrated, he had turned to where his precious cargo had been crouching in the back of the salt pork cart he had nicked. But the wolf girl had already scampered off._

 _That was when Sandor saw the Frey men start moving frantically, their hands touching their weapons. He knew they were going to slaughter the Stark army as they celebrated the wedding of the Tully nance and one of Frey's daughters. All because the Young Wolf couldn't keep his piece to himself and uphold his vow._

 _Sandor carried the little lady to the abandoned cart and set her down on it. He freed Stranger and prepared the horse for their escape. By the time he had clambered onto Stranger and settled the unconscious girl in front of him, they were fully surrounded by violence and fire._

 _He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. The screaming, the gutting, the lynching—none of that affected him as Stranger took them on their way. It was the carts ablaze and the torches carried by the soldiers. He didn't want to imagine what these grounds looked like from the battlements. The last time he was in a fiery skirmish like this, he had run away from it. He left the Battle of Blackwater Bay through the Mud Gate and collected the songbird from her chamber, forever marking himself as a coward to everyone._

 _Everyone but_ her _._

 _Fallon had been the only thing he could think about during that fight. Every man he'd cut down had been to keep her safe, until his own childish fears overtook him. Fire. Fire and Fallon were his only weaknesses. And now one was dead. But the other could never truly die._

 _Sandor felt his chest grow heavy, and he knew it wasn't entirely because he was cradling the wolf girl to him. He knew he had to cross the fiery field ahead of them. He had to get her away from the Twins, away from these allies who had double-crossed her family. He was doing the right thing, he told himself again. He was doing what Fallon would have wanted him to do._

 _He didn't want to admit it, but he had grown to care for the girl, if only a little. She was a pain in his arse. She was as wild, rude, stubborn, and impulsive as he'd expected when he first encountered her at Winterfell. But he knew there was more to him keeping her safe than just ransom money. Sandor oftentimes wondered if Fallon's ghost had been speaking to him in his dreams, encouraging him to care for her. He could practically hear her voice as he tightened his grip around her former charge. How he wished he could actually hear her, see her, feel her._

 _He'd all but ignored her in the early days after they escaped from King's Landing and it was something he would regret until his dying day. He had been afraid she would think less of him for fleeing the Battle of Blackwater. He didn't want to hear her voice at first. He didn't want to hear the shame she surely felt. But she had gotten him to lower his guard around her, if only a little. Then he ruined everything with his continuous drinking. Had he known that she would be taken right from under his nose…_

 _Sandor noticed there was a Frey banner leaning against a wall in reaching distance. He reached out for it and carried the banner so he could blend in with the attackers and leave the scene relatively unscathed._

 _He quickly approached a bale of hay that was on fire and panic suddenly set in, causing him to turn around. Stranger neighed, rearing up a bit as there was no way to get through without going near a healthy blaze. But before Sandor could muster up the courage to make their egress, he was distracted by the loud chanting coming from the gate they'd just left._

 _"HEEERE COMES THE KING IN THE NORTH, THE KING IN THE NORTH, THE KING IN THE NORTH! HEEERE COMES THE KING IN THE NORTH, THE KING IN THE NORTH, THE KING IN THE NORTH!"_

 _Horrified, Sandor watched as a party of Frey soldiers, wielding torches and weapons, escorted a horse through the gate. And on the horse, what must have been the body of Robb Stark tied to a board to keep upright with the head of his pet direwolf, its jowls forced open._

 _"_ HERE COMES THE KING IN THE NOOORTH! _" a lone man howled above the chanting._

 _The party came closer, and as it did, Sandor noticed more about what was riding the horse. It took a lot to disgust him as much as that display did. He hoped the girl before him wouldn't rouse, but unfortunately, she had lifted her head from his chest already. Her bleary eyes looked up at Sandor, then saw the horse turn to the side, revealing that her brother had ultimately been decapitated and the direwolf's head had clumsily been stitched onto him, inches off his shoulders._

 _"HEEERE COMES THE KING IN THE NORTH, THE KING IN THE NORTH, THE KING IN THE NORTH!" the men continued to chant as others cheered for their victory._

 _Sandor quickly turned Stranger around and galloped forward, not thinking of much other than the little lady who had buried her muddy face in his chest. She had wrapped her arms around his waist and he knew it wasn't only to keep her balance. She was seeking comfort from_ him _, the man she hated, the man she'd tried to kill more than once, the man who slaughtered her butcher's boy. And so he went through the fiery landscape, past the dead and dying—whatever he needed to do to get her away from everything they had just seen._

 _He was doing the right thing._

* * *

"What was it like growing up with the Starks?" Thoros asked. "I never met Ned, but Beric always spoke highly of him."

"He was a great man," I said, smiling wistfully. "He was too good to be sent to rot in King's Landing."

"He treated you well?" Thoros gave me a sidelong glance.

"My times spent with the Starks were some of the happiest of my life," I told him.

"The wolves made you happier than your _dog_?"

I sighed and looked down at Shevaun's neck from where I sat atop her.

"I love Sandor with all of my heart. I will love him until my last breath. But our time together coincided with a lot of…unrelated unhappiness."

"Did it, now?" Thoros hummed.

"If it weren't for Sandor…for the love and kindness he showed me…I might have thrown myself into the Blackwater," I said darkly.

Thoros was silent for a moment. "Love and kindness?" he finally said. "You _are_ talking about Clegane, aren't you?"

"Yes. Yes, I am," I gave Thoros a look. I knew he was only trying to get under my skin. "It's _shocking_ what might happen when one treats another with an ounce of respect."

"Is that why he loves you so much? Because you respect him?"

"Everyone who's ever encountered him has either treated him like shit or run off wetting themselves. But not me. When people see him, they see the Hound. They see the Mountain's brother. They see all of the awful things he had to do in service of the Lannisters. _I_ see Sandor Clegane. I see a man with sadness and pain in his eyes. I see a man who wants to do good but has had few opportunities to do so. I see the man he really is," I smiled bitterly to myself.

There was silence for another moment, save for the birds chirping amongst the trees as we rode through the forest.

"I'd say he's very lucky to have found you," Thoros murmured.

"Not as lucky as I am to have found him," I sighed as we approached a fork in our path. "I can only hope to find him again."

"Go left," Thoros directed, ignoring my last comment.

I nodded and went along with him. We traveled without another word for quite a while, until we came upon a very familiar-looking village.

" _Are_ you sending me back to Loralye?" I glanced over at Thoros.

"Relax, girl. We're going to stop for a bit, stretch our legs. Besides, I'm starving," Thoros smirked at me. "And thirsty."

I gulped, wondering how the tavernkeeper was going to react to me coming back. I remembered the hard look on her face when I climbed onto the back of Thoros' steed in the rain the day I left. I felt her blue eyes all the way into the woods that day.

After tying our horses up outside the tavern, Thoros gestured for me to enter in front of him. I gulped again, opening the door to the establishment. It was exactly as I had remembered—dirt floors, gloomy interior, with few men inside so early in the day.

Thoros sat down at a table near the door, making sure he sat with his back to it. I sank down into the seat across the table from him and started fiddling with my thumbs on my lap.

" _Relax_ ," Thoros told me again. "You look like you're a thief who's about to be caught."

"Sorry," I smiled sheepishly at him just before the kitchen door opened behind me.

"Thoros," came a sweet voice trying to sound tougher. "You've got some stones coming here without Anguy."

"My sincerest apologies, darling," Thoros grinned at her. "He's a bit tied up at the moment. Important Brotherhood business."

"And what's this business you speak of?" Loralye asked, coming up behind me. "Stealing more kindly innkeepers' best help?"

I leaned my head down and felt a guilty smile tug at the corner of my lips.

"Hey, now, Loralye, I take offense to that. I didn't _steal_ her from you, I paid off her debt," Thoros defended himself playfully. "Anyway, you're better off not asking me more questions about Anguy's whereabouts. If I told you any important Brotherhood business, I'd have to kill you."

"He was sound asleep when we left," I rolled my eyes, turning to look at the woman with the wavy black hair.

"Aha," she raised her eyebrows when she laid eyes on me. "Finally, an honest answer out of you, _Ella_."

"I'm so sorry, Loralye," I grimaced. "I didn't want to lie to you, I truly didn't. I was only trying to be careful…for once."

"I can imagine you'd have to be, what with your so-called _protector_ running off without you," she hummed, taking a seat beside me. "Can't trust nobody these days, it seems. Lucky you, though, having friends in the Brotherhood. They may have cost me some silver, eating all of my food, but at least they're good men."

" _You_ were very kind to me, Loralye. I won't forget the way you looked after me," I smiled.

"Did you think I'd send you back to wherever you were running from?" Loralye asked softly.

I nodded.

Loralye lifted a hand and grabbed my shoulder, the corners of her lips turning upwards. "I'm not angry with you, dear. I only wish you knew you could have trusted me."

"I wish I had known as well," I gently squeezed her hand on my shoulder.

"Was _everything_ a lie?" she asked.

"Not everything," I said. "Mostly just the name."

"I see. So, your protector—?"

"Forgive me for interrupting, ladies," Thoros cut in. "But could we carry on with this conversation _after_ you've brought us food?"

Loralye heaved a great sigh and stood up. "Brown bread, stew, and ale?"

"Water for me, if I may," I piped up.

"Of course, Ella," the keep nodded and turned away.

"I knew she wouldn't be upset with you," Thoros said softly. "Doesn't stay angry at anyone long. Besides, she's all talk, isn't she?"

I smiled at the priest. "I seem to remember her vowing to never let you and the brothers take advantage of her kindness again."

"The key…" Thoros leaned in closer as he dramatically whispered, "…is to bring Anguy along. She just can't say no to that handsome bastard."

"I hope you brought your purse then," I snickered, looking over my shoulder as Loralye opened the door from the kitchen.

She had a bucket of stew dangling from her wrist as she managed to carry two different pitchers, holding our bowls and cups under her elbow, somehow managing to balance the bread atop them. She looked like she was pretending not to struggle, so I stood and met her halfway.

"You don't work for me anymore, Ella. It's quite alright," she puffed stubbornly.

"I'm happy to help, really," I replied, taking one of the pitchers from her hands and grabbing the basket of bread.

"Figures that the only time Thoros of Myr walks into my tavern with a pocketful of silver, he buys you from me," Loralye tutted. "The gods must get a right good laugh out of me…"

Taking a brave sniff from the pitcher in my hands, I was relieved to find out it was the water. I sat it before me on the table when I returned to my seat, putting the bread in the middle of the table, then took the other pitcher from her to set in front of Thoros. Loralye put the stew near the bread and set a bowl down for all three of us, then handed out the cups. She sank back down into the seat beside me and poured herself a cup of ale.

"Many thanks to you, Loralye," Thoros poured himself a cup and held it up to her. "I'll be sure to tell Anguy of your kindness and hospitality." He winked an eye at me and took a large gulp.

"I'm sure you will," Loralye bounced her eyebrows. "Tell him to wake up next time."

"I'll drag him out by his ears."

Loralye smirked and shook her head. She took a swig of ale and turned to look at me. "What were we talking about before we were rudely interrupted?"

"My protector," I sipped my water apprehensively. "Have you any news of him?"

"Might do," Loralye shrugged. "You still care to hear it after he abandoned you?"

"He didn't _abandon_ me," I corrected her. "He _will_ come back to me."

I wasn't sure who I was trying to convince more—Loralye or myself.

"He thinks you're dead," Thoros piped up.

"Then I suppose he'll be in for quite the shock," I shrugged. "What were you going to say about him, Loralye?"

"Right, right," she shook her black waves out of her face. "I thought of you the other night, Ella. There was a man in here—an old fellow with a brown cloak and a few bumps on his head. I heard him talking to whoever would listen. Said he was supposed to bring salt pork to the Twins for that wedding. Said the wheel on his cart was broken and a giant of a man and a little boy or a little girl—he didn't see well enough to tell—they came upon him and the man helped him with the wheel and then knocked him unconscious. Said he didn't remember much about the man except he had dark hair and a burn on his face. And the little one with him—knocked him on the head as well. When he woke up, his cart was gone." Loralye cocked a brow at me. "Sound like something your protector would do?"

My throat felt dry. Sandor was still in the Riverlands. At least, he had been. But what would he need with a cart of salt pork? And who was he with?

As if answering my question, Thoros leaned forward again. "Your little lady, Arya," he whispered. "Last I saw of her, she was dressed as a lad. Short hair and everything. But still worth a hefty amount of gold, I'm sure."

"Do you think she's with him?" I asked, feeling tears prick at my eyes. "Do you think he has her?"

"It's not impossible," Thoros shrugged and guzzled down more ale.

Before I could even think about how I felt about Arya possibly traveling with Sandor, Loralye started pouring stew into my bowl. She looked me up and down and pushed the bowl closer to me.

"You should eat, love. You're looking pale," she said protectively, breaking me off a hunk of brown bread and thrusting it into my hand. "So, Thoros, what exactly _is_ your business here?"

Thoros nodded his head to me. "She's not better yet."

"Hmm." Loralye watched me carefully as I dipped the hunk of bread into the stew before me.

"We're trying to find whatever help we can," Thoros continued, swallowing his own bread. "It's hard to know where to look."

"Interestingly enough, I've been thinking a lot about you, Ella. About your symptoms," she said. "Tell me, when's the last time you bled?"

I almost choked on my stew. I felt my cheeks heat up in embarrassment and I couldn't even bring myself to look at Thoros full-on. But I could tell he was uncomfortable as well. From the corner of my eye, I saw him turn his head over his shoulder, examining the back corner of the tavern.

"E-Er…" I stuttered, unable to make any other noise.

Loralye began to chuckle. "Come now, the both of you. Thoros is a _Red_ priest, isn't he? Shouldn't red be his favorite color?"

Thoros quickly stood up. He muttered something about needing to take a piss and walked to the door, leaving me alone with Loralye at the table.

"Heh, well, now I suppose I know how to get rid of him," she smirked to herself. But her face softened when she turned back to look at me. "I'll ask again—when's the last time you bled?"

"Er, it's been…" I felt my face flush once more. I was never quite comfortable speaking to others about such an _intimate_ thing. In fact, it was the thing I dreaded talking to Arya about most, not that I ended up needing to worry about such things. "It's been at least one month. Possibly two. It's, er, it's been a stressful time, you see."

"Mmm," Loralye nodded and looked me up and down once more. "Who's the father?"

I nearly choked once more, this time on my water. "Pardon?"

"Please tell me it isn't Thoros," she grimaced. "With a face like that, you can do much better."

"What are you imply—?"

"Or is it your _protector_?" Loralye raised a brow. "He wasn't very pretty, if I remember correctly. But he did look very tall, very _strong_. I can see how one might find that appealing…"

I stared at the keep for what seemed like forever. My body felt as if someone had poured ice over the top of my head. Part of me knew what she was trying to say, but the other part of me didn't want to believe it.

"Gods, your tits are nearly bursting out of that dress I gave you," Loralye glanced down below my neck and eyed me as if I were the biggest fool in the Seven Kingdoms. "Should've known it by the way you were so ill. I wasn't much different when I carried Collyn." She reached down and grabbed my shaking hands. "Congratulations, _Ella_. You're with child."

* * *

 **BOMBSHELL DROPPED**

 **Also, HOW MUCH DO YOU GUYS LOVE THAT PART IN THE SHOW WHEN SANDOR TAKES ARYA AWAY FROM THE TWINS? Like, TOTALLY underrated scene. He faced his greatest fear to protect her and I just...it's one of the best things ever.**


	39. A Lonelier Place

**"She's pregnant?"**

 **"So** it seems."

"Heh, well done, Thoros."

"Don't start getting the wrong ideas, Morgan, it's not mine."

"It isn't?"

"Of course not."

"You sure? 'Ve seen the two of you together, giggling by the fire, resting your heads on each other's shoulders. Tell me that babe won't be born with a topknot."

"I _promise you_ it will _not_."

I could tell Thoros was getting annoyed without even seeing his face. I could hear his conversation with Gatins' curly-haired friend perfectly from where I lay. As far as they knew, I was still asleep, not hearing their gossip.

"Just admit it," Morgan pleaded.

"Fallon is my friend, nothing more," Thoros told him. "Besides…"

I could practically hear the smirk that was surely on his face.

"…She's got _terrible_ taste in men," he continued.

I started chewing on my bottom lip. I knew he was cracking wise, but I couldn't help resenting the sentiment. Sandor was a good man. I didn't care how many times I needed to say it.

"So she _is_ in love with you, Thoros?"

Though I didn't particularly like Morgan, his response—inaccurate as it may have been—almost made me laugh out loud. I had to bite down on my knuckles to stifle myself. I was very thankful to be laying with my back to the two men so they couldn't see me.

Thoros didn't reply. Not verbally at least. But after a moment I head one of them walk away. I waited a few breaths before rolling onto my back and stretching my arms above my head. When I finally pulled myself up, I saw Thoros sitting there, staring into the fire.

I let the shabby blanket fall to the side as I stood up and walked away from my bedroll. Thoros didn't look at me when I plopped myself down beside him.

"Morning," I yawned.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked.

"I woke up several times in the night," I shrugged. "I've been having the most vivid dreams of late."

"Have you?" Thoros finally glanced at me.

"Mm," I nodded. "They feel very real…but then I can't remember what even happened. I just remember the _feeling_ of the dream."

"What's one you do remember?" Thoros asked.

"The other night I had a dream about what I imagine it looks like up north, past the Wall," I told him. "I've never gone beyond Winterfell, but I've always wondered what it was like there."

"And what was it like in your dream?"

"Cold," I shrugged. "That's all I remember—the cold. Colder than anything I've ever felt in my life."

"Sounds about right," Thoros cocked his head to the side.

"I woke up and realized I'd thrown my blanket off me in the middle of the night," I told him, making him snicker in spite of himself. "Speaking of my blanket, it's rather… _holey_ , isn't it?"

"You've spent far too much time living in castles, love," Thoros shook his head at me. "It's set your expectations too high."

I grinned at his tone and folded my hands in my lap patiently. "I was merely wondering if I could ask for a needle and thread. I told Beric I could mend things if given the proper materials, or have you forgotten?"

"Right, right," Thoros sighed. He patted his thighs and stood up. "We'll get you the proper materials, then."

"Are you alright?" I asked him, grabbing his wrist before he could walk away. "You seem preoccupied."

"Don't you worry about me, sweet Fallon, I'm just lovely," Thoros assured me, staring directly into my eyes for just a moment.

"You can tell me anyth—"

"Thoros!" a voice called out suddenly.

I whipped my head in the direction of the young scout as he hurried through the cavern towards us. His dark red hair was sticking to the sweat on his forehead. He must have run all the way back from wherever he had been located.

"Calm down, lad," Thoros told him, jerking his wrist free from my hand to grab the boy's shoulders. "What news do you have?"

"Where's…Beric?" the scout panted.

"Just over there. Come on," Thoros said as he took him away.

I watched as Thoros and the scout retreated further into the dimly-lit cave to where Beric had been sitting the day I met him. I watched as they spoke in hushed tones, squinting to try and see better in the darkness.

There were no smiles on any of the men's faces from what I could see. Only shock and, perhaps, sadness. Thoros glanced over at me and I offered him a supportive smile, but it only served to cut his frown deeper. He took a step away from the group, then looked back at Beric and the scout.

"…should be the one to tell her," I faintly heard the priest say.

My own smile faltered as Thoros continued on his way. The grave look on his face started to worry me. I put one of my hands on my stomach, preparing for whatever he was about to tell me.

"What is it?" I asked, my lips quivering. "Is it Sandor?"

"No, my sweet," Thoros shook his head. He sat back down beside me by the fire. "It pains me to tell you this, Fallon, it really does."

"Best get it over with, then," I gulped.

"How, er, how aware of the wedding at the Twins were you?" he asked clumsily.

"Not very," I admitted. "I heard something long ago about Robb Stark breaking a vow with the Freys. That's all."

Thoros nodded solemnly and turned so he was sitting perpendicular to me. He heaved a great sigh and reached over to take my hands in his. The skin on his palms felt rough and blistered, but it was nearly as comforting as Sandor's hand against the back of my head.

"Robb Stark brokered a deal with Walder Frey to march south on his bridge. Part of their negotiations was a wedding between Stark and one of Frey's girls."

 _" '_ Girls _', if yeh can even call 'em that,"_ the voice of Ale Horn snickered in my head, making me shiver.

"Are you alright?" Thoros furrowed his brow at me.

"I'm fine," I nodded. "G'wan."

Thoros eyed me and took a deep breath before continuing. "Robb Stark never married a Frey, though. Instead he married another woman, someone he truly loved. A—"

"A battlefield healer, correct?" I interjected, shivering again as I recalled more about the conversation Ale Horn, Pale Man, and Wine Stain shared before they intended on raping me and leaving me to die in the woods.

"Mm," Thoros hummed. "She must have been something special if she caused Ned Stark's son to break a vow…

"Anyway, it seemed Frey was going to give the Starks another chance. He offered his bridge for another wedding—this one to Edmure Tully, your Lady Stark's brother," Thoros squeezed my hands, a pained expression on his face. "The Starks came to the Twins, bread and salt and all that, and Tully married Frey."

He stopped and looked down at his knees. I squeezed his hands back and Thoros looked at me with sad eyes.

"G'wan," I repeated myself, trying to anticipate what in seven hells he was going to say.

"The Freys broke guest right just after the bride and groom were taken for the bedding ceremony," Thoros told me. "It appears that the Freys and the Boltons conspired with the Lannisters and…they slaughtered the Starks' army."

The bottom of my stomach fell out and my hands felt like lead as they slipped out of Thoros's grip, falling onto my lap.

"W-What about Robb…and Catelyn…?" I asked in a wavering voice.

Instead of answering right away, Thoros grabbed my shoulders and pulled me closer to him. He wrapped his arms around me and held me against his chest as my tears began to fall. "I'm so sorry, sweet Fallon," he mumbled over my head. "I'm so terribly sorry."

Robb and Catelyn were dead, along with their bannermen. Little Robb… I remembered him when he was a babe. I remembered him overhearing me practice with my lute when he was a small child. I remembered him protectively checking in on baby Arya when I would lay her down for a kip.

Now all I could do was imagine him lying in a pool of his own blood, with his mother not far away from him.

"I'm terribly sorry, Fallon," Thoros murmured. "I know how much the Starks meant to you."

"Th-The last time I saw C-Catelyn," I stuttered, sitting up and wiping at my eyes, "I p-promised her I would k-keep Arya safe…"

"Shh," Thoros touched my arm. "You protected that girl for most of her life."

"I h-haven't seen her in _years_ ," I buried my face in my hands. "I d-don't kn-know where she is! I don't know if she's even _alive_!"

"Hey," he whispered. " _You_ were the sister she chose. _You_ know her better than anyone. That girl is fierce and wild and independent. She knows how to handle herself. And if she truly is out there, traveling with Clegane, knocking out pig farmers—"

I allowed myself a bitter laugh.

"If Clegane loves you as much as he should, he'll keep her safe. I'm sure of it," Thoros pulled me into his arms again.

I let him hold me for a long time as I wept. He gently rocked me back and forth and rubbed circles into my back.

"D-Did Robb…did he ever have a chance at winning this war?" I finally asked, sitting up on the rock beneath me. "Could he really have beaten the Lannisters?"

Thoros sighed again. "For a time, I suppose. He won many battles… He still had a chance, even after that Greyjoy whelp betrayed him. But he lost the war the day he fucked Walder Frey over."

"Wh-What?" I furrowed my brow.

"Fucking hell, girl, I just told you about Frey—"

"No," I shook my head. "The 'Greyjoy whelp'. You c-can't mean Theon."

"It happened so long ago… You really didn't hear?" Thoros asked.

"Clearly not," I wiped at my last tear.

"Well, darling, I'm afraid I _do_ mean Theon," Thoros said gently.

"N-No," I shook my head more fervently. "He _couldn't_ have betrayed Robb. H-He thought of Robb as a _brother_. The Starks were more of a family to him than his own _house_. H-He was a _good_ lad. Annoying at worst, but a good lad. He couldn't have… He _loved_ Robb."

"He sacked Winterfell," Thoros told me plainly.

"He _couldn't_ have," I repeated, new tears pricking at my eyes.

"He did."

This hit me hard. I knew that Catelyn had never fully trusted Theon in the many years they had kept him as their ward. _"Never trust a Greyjoy."_ I had always felt for him. Ripped from his rebellious father's hands, sent to live far from his home as insurance, never truly feeling like a Greyjoy nor a Stark, no matter how close he got. I had felt so bad that I had _kissed_ him before leaving the North, never imagining that he would do something like this.

"A-And…Bran? Rickon?" I choked out.

Thoros sighed heavily once more and looked at his lap.

"N-No… No, they're _children_!"

"I'm sorry, Fallon," Thoros mumbled.

I clasped my face with my hands once more. I could feel Thoros rubbing my shoulder as my body wracked with sobs. But nothing, not even Sandor's arms wrapping around me could have soothed the pain I was feeling.

"S-So the Greyjoys have Winterfell now?" I asked once I had calmed down enough. I was almost afraid to ask anything more, but I had to know.

"No, my lady."

I turned around and saw Beric coming to sit on my other side. Even with one eye I could see his sorrow.

"Roose Bolton was made the new Lord of Winterfell, as well as Warden of the North," he continued. "And now that Hoster Tully has been dead for some time and Edmure has been taken prisoner, Walder Frey is Lord Paramount of the Trident. The perks of organizing such treachery as this _Red Wedding_."

I nodded slowly, my hands absentmindedly traveling to my stomach.

"I'm very sorry for what happened to the Starks," Beric said to me. "I promise you, the Freys will pay for what they have done. I don't know how. I don't know when. But they will pay."

* * *

 _Arya Stark crouched by the shallow stream. She scrubbed at her hands under the cool water while the Hound pissed onto the roots of a nearby tree. She hadn't forgiven him for saving her life at the Twins. She hadn't forgiven him for saving her life not more than hour earlier either. She didn't think she ever would._

 _The Hound shook himself dry before lacing his trousers back together and turned around to stare at her._

 _"_ What _?" Arya snapped as she lifted her hands from the water and checked for any more blood around her fingernails._

 _"Didn't know you highborn ladies knew how to clean yourselves. Thought you'd have your handmaidens wash everything for you," he sneered._

 _"I know how to_ clean myself _," Arya glared at him. "It's a shame Fallon never helped_ you _."_

 _That wiped the smirk right off his face. Without a word, he walked over to his monstrous horse and grabbed the leather feed bag from his saddle. He clunked his way over to the stream Arya was still crouched at and bent at the waist to fill the bag with water. He returned to his horse and let it have a nice long drink._

 _Arya cupped her hands in the stream and splashed her sweaty, dirty face. It had taken a lot out of her to murder that Frey man. She could still feel his hot blood spurting out of his neck as she continued to stab him with the Hound's knife._

 _She knew that attacking that soldier, while several of his friends sat around their fire with him, was suicidal. She knew and she didn't care. He could have been with a hundred men, mocking her mother's cries, bragging about sewing Grey Wind's head onto her brother's shoulders; she could have been armed with a_ chicken bone _and she still would have killed him just the same._

 _She should have died. She should have been ripped to shreds by the other soldiers. She almost wondered if she_ wanted _to die, so she could be with her mother, her brother, her father… But whether that was what she wanted or not, the Hound had stepped in and made sure she was still alive. He pushed her aside and slaughtered those soldiers just as those soldiers slaughtered Robb's men. And in the end, he was only annoyed that she didn't inform him of what she was going to do before she slipped off his horse and approached the soldiers._

 _He must have thought she was worth quite a lot, to go to such lengths to keep her around. But to whom anymore? Arya questioned. She was running out of relatives, it seemed. Who was he going to sell her to now? Some tavern wench on the road?_

 _Out of curiosity, Arya almost asked him what his plans were for her, but she reconsidered. She didn't want to speak to anyone, least of all the Hound. So instead, Arya just stared at him. She watched as he stood near his horse and dug into the sleeve of his armor. He pulled out a dark gray square. Arya had seen him holding it before, usually when he thought she couldn't see him, like when they camped at night and she would pretend to be sleeping. He would stare at the square and his face would soften a bit. Instead of angry or grumpy, this square would make him look sad._

 _Curiosity made her want to ask about the square as well, but again, she didn't want to talk. And she didn't want to seem like she actually cared about him. She didn't. She hated him. He killed Mycah. He lost Fallon. He kidnapped her and was holding her for ransom. He was on her list and he would_ always _be on her list._

* * *

I sat at the fire for a long time. Brothers passed me, whispering things behind my back as if I couldn't hear them. Some asked how long I was staying, some discussed Sandor's "pup" growing inside of me, some muttered to each other about the Red Wedding.

Well into the evening, a young brother stepped out from the darkness and stood across the fire from her with a bundle of sticks in his arms. He was a handsome boy with dark curls that hung in his eyes and a raised mole above his upper lip. He was younger than me, likely around the age of Jon Snow, perhaps even younger than the bastard at the Wall.

"Pardon me, milady—"

"I'm not a lady," I interrupted, raising my eyes from the flames before me.

The boy bobbed his head. "Are you cold? I can add more wood to the fire."

"G'wan," I whispered, pulling my ragged blanket closer to me. I had been getting quite cold, but I couldn't have been bothered to do anything more about it. Gods, Thoros had been the one to drape the blanket around my shoulders before he went away to conspire with Beric deeper in the cave many hours before.

Without a word, the boy set to adding his new sticks to the fire. I watched as the flames grew and felt my breath catch in my throat. The fire called Sandor back to my mind. I started imagining him as a child. I started feeling his fear as his brother pushed him into the flames. How awful that must have been. My free hand found its way to my stomach and new tears welled in my eyes.

"Thank you," I said to the boy.

"You're welcome," he bowed his head and walked away.

I almost called out to him to come back. I didn't want to be alone with my thoughts. If I wasn't thinking about my love's tragic past I was thinking about thinking about what had happened to the Starks. I wanted to distract myself, so I could be strong. I wanted Sandor to know that I had it in me to be strong once we finally found our way back to each other. And I wanted to be strong for our child.

I wasn't alone for much longer, fortunately. As if answering my prayers, I watched the figure of Thoros approaching me in the darkness. He replaced the boy with curly hair's figure. He was also carrying something, but not sticks this time. It looked like a rolled-up piece of leather in his hand.

"Hello, my dear," he drawled. Though his voice was lazy as ever, his kind eyes searched my face intently.

I forced a smile and watched as he strolled around the firepit. He stopped when he was beside me and plopped down next to me where he had been before.

"I went into town," Thoros said. "Ask and you shall receive."

He held out the rolled-up leather and let me take it from him. I unfurled it and laid it down on my lap. The leather happened to be a sewing kit, filled with different sized needles and spools of thread—little Arya's worst nightmare.

"I… Thank you," I smiled at Thoros genuinely this time. I was careful as I reached out and hugged him.

"It was no problem at all," he told me. "Anything you need, sweet Fallon, I will find for you."

"You're too kind to me," I frowned. "I'll never be able to repay you for everything you've done."

"Seeing you smile is more than enough," Thoros patted my back before he let go of me.

"Where did you find this?" I asked, picking up the sewing kit again. "It must have been expensive."

"You need not worry about such things," he said in a shifty voice.

"Did you steal it?" I asked.

Thoros was silent for a moment. He gave me a sidelong glance and tapped the side of his nose, making my face crack into a reluctant grin.

"Spent most of my life trying to be a good person to show that little Stark girl how to be one herself, and now, here I am, in the company of thieves, using stolen goods," I tutted myself, grinning wider at Thoros beside me while I took out a needle.

"You still are a good person," Thoros said as I pulled at one of the spools of thread. "I can't imagine you being anything _but_ a good person."

I looked at him, teeth now clenched around the needle. "I've killed a man before," I said in a garbled voice.

Thoros furrowed his brow at me, as if trying to work out what I had just said. Then he started laughing. He laughed long and he laughed hard.

"I have!" I asserted, taking the needle out of my mouth and licking the tip of the thread so I could put it through the eye.

"You have _not_ killed a man before," he said, still laughing.

"I'm not lying!"

"What did you do? _Sing_ him the _saddest song_? _Braid his hair_ so tight you _scalped him_?"

I set the kit down between Thoros and me and pulled the blanket onto my lap so I could begin mending the bloody thing. If only he knew who I'd killed, why I'd killed him. Then perhaps he wouldn't be laughing so hard. But now wasn't the time to bring up such awful things. There was enough awfulness going on.

"Did you _prick him_ with a _needle_?" Thoros continued.

"I stabbed him, right in the heart," I told him, not looking up from the blanket.

"I would pay good money to see you kill someone," he said, wiping at his eyes as his laughter subsided.

"You really _are_ the worst priest I've ever met," I mumbled.

"Oh, Fallon, many thanks to you," he ignored me. "I needed a right good laugh."

"Happy to be of service."

Thoros pulled out his wineskin and took a great swig from it. He slid down from the rock and sat casually with his knees up near his chest, taking another long drink before resting his elbow near my new sewing kit.

"You asked me earlier if I was all right," he sighed. "Truth is, I've been very worried lately. Mostly about you, as I'm sure you're aware."

"Oh, are you worried about me?" I asked dryly, giving him a sidelong glance.

"I won't apologize for caring too much," Thoros nudged my thigh with his elbow.

I smiled and switched my needle to my left hand so I could reach down and pat his arm with my right. "I know that I don't say it enough, but I truly do appreciate you and your friendship, _Thoros of Myr_."

"You don't have to say it," he sighed again. "I don't have to look into the flames to know it, either."

"Forgive my ignorance, but do you usually see things in the flames?" I asked. "I believe you alluded to it the night we went to that tavern in King's Landing. What was it that your Fire God told you through the flames? That I would pay for our drinks?"

Thoros snickered and sipped from his wineskin. "A _false vision_ clearly," he said in a playful voice. "I recall my purse being much lighter after that night."

I chuckled to myself as I continued to mend the many holes in the blanket on my lap. Thoros tipped his head back and drank more of his rum.

"You've been sitting here long enough," he looked up at me with his glassy eyes. "Have you seen any visions yourself?"

"I can't say I have," I told him.

"I haven't seen a proper vision in years," Thoros leaned his head on his shoulder. "At least, that's what I thought…until a few nights ago."

"What did you see?" I asked.

"It wasn't much. The way you spoke of your dreams—not remembering what they are but remembering the feeling—that was more of what I…experienced, so to speak. I could _feel_ betrayal. Steel. Bread. Salt. Cold winds that turned into a blaze. I wasn't sure what it was, Fallon, but when I sat here with you this morning, it was on my mind, along with my worry towards you. I could sense something bad was happening. And when Gared came running with the news of the Red Wedding…"

"That's what you felt," I finished for him, tying off a stitch and biting at the string to cut the needle free before placing it back in the sewing kit.

"I believe so," Thoros breathed. "As I've said before, I didn't know the Starks. But I know how much they meant to you, Fallon. If I could go back…if I could have done something…"

"It's alright," I patted his arm again. "It's just the way of this shit world, isn't it? Bad things happen to good people. And my world becomes a lonelier and lonelier place."

Thoros stared at me as I curled the sewing kit back up and bundled the half-mended blanket in my arms.

"Thank you for still being here," I said before I stood up. "Good night, Thoros."

* * *

 _It all felt familiar—riding through the gates of Winterfell onto the path that led to the Kingsroad with Benjen Stark at my side. Only this time, Benjen and I were the only riders. There was no royal caravan. There were no lords, no bastards, no other men shrouded in black. No stags, no lions, not even a snarling hound._

 _Just the two of us and our horses._

 _"Did you ever know Hodor when he could speak actual words?" Benjen asked me as we approached the waypost._

 _"He could ever speak actual words?" I cocked a brow._

 _"That answers that, I suppose," Benjen snickered._

 _He cast a glance at me and smirked. When I met his eye he looked back ahead, absentmindedly reaching a gloved hand down to stroke the brown coat of his horse's neck._

 _"Of course you weren't there. I was just a lad myself when he became Hodor," Benjen began. "It was the day Ned left to foster at the Eyrie. I was standing there in the training yard with Ser Rodrik, right by the stable boy, Wylis…"_

 _He trailed off and looked at me again, his eyes lingering this time._

 _"My apologies, Fallon. It's not a story fit to tell such lovely women as yourself," he smiled once more._

 _"It's alright. You can tell me anything," I assured him._

 _Benjen shook his head silently. He slowed his horse down as we came closer to the waypost and I reined Shevaun in to match. Benjen stared out into the distance where the path to Castle Black led after said waypost. I could see his chest heave from under his black cloak before he turned to look back to me._

 _"I've wondered something," he sighed, "for a long time."_

 _"What is it?" I asked._

 _I could feel him examining my face. My cheeks heated up and I grew more and more self-conscious with every second he spent staring at me. I almost wished he'd stop._

 _"Do you think…if the gods had been on our side…if we could have gotten the timing right…? Do you think we could have ever had a chance?" he asked clumsily._

 _"Benjen, don't be ridiculous," I turned my hot face towards the Kingsroad. "Even if you hadn't joined the Night's Watch, I'm lowborn—as lowborn as lowborn can be. You would have been betrothed to some lady and been in yet another loveless, but advantageous marriage. You_ know _that."_

 _"And what of my nephew? What of Robb marrying for love?" Benjen asked me. His voice had a tinge of playfulness to it. "He was King in the North, wasn't he? And look at what_ he _did."_

 _"Yes. Look at what he did. And look where that got him," I pointed out sadly, catching Benjen's eye once more._

 _He gave me a bitter smile and guided his horse to walk a bit closer to Shevaun. "Then I should have deserted the Night's Watch and run away with you the day I first saw you as a woman. Rickon's birth, wasn't it? You looked so radiant, watching over my little niece. Gods, I didn't trust myself to speak to you those days I spent at Winterfell. You were the greatest test of my honor, Fallon. I only wish I had failed. Imagine the life we could have had together."_

 _"Ah, yes, what a life," I said facetiously as we finally came upon the waypost. "Hiding in the woods until Ned's men found us and your brother cut your head off for breaking your vows."_

 _Benjen laughed. "I wonder what the gods would think was worse—desertion or kinslaying?"_

 _He slowed his horse down to a stop right beside the small tower of stones. By the time I had stopped Shevaun, Benjen had already dismounted and stood beside my mare. He lifted his hands and held my waist. I grabbed his shoulders and let him help me down. But even when my feet were firmly planted on the grass, his hands still gripped my sides._

 _"I should have done this long ago, Fallon," he whispered before leaning his head down and meeting my lips with his._

 _After the initial shock wore off, I felt myself responding to his kiss. One of my hands found its way to his chest, the other rested under his long black hair, cupping the hinge of his jaw. This was the moment my adolescent self had been waiting for—Benjen Stark revealing hidden feelings for me, kissing me, holding me._

 _But then, just as suddenly as the kiss had started, the feeling of disappointment and shame hit me. It was as if someone had held my mouth open and forced shards of ice down my throat. What was I doing? What was I_ doing _?!_

 _I let go of Benjen and pushed myself away from him. His almond-shaped eyes were full of confusion and hurt as they searched me once more._

 _"What's wrong?" he asked, sounding heartbroken._

 _All I could muster for the moment was to shake my head._

 _"Fallon?" Benjen tried to step closer to me, but I quickly stepped back._

 _"You were right," I said as I turned around and climbed back on Shevaun. I couldn't bring myself to look at him. Instead, my eyes darted towards the south once again. "The gods were not on our side. We got the timing wrong."_

 _"Do you love another?" he asked._

 _"I do," I said, the skin on the right side of my face burning from underneath, it felt like._

 _Only then did I finally look back down at where Benjen had stood, but he wasn't there. I whipped my head to the side and gasped out loud at what I saw._

 _He was sat atop a different horse—a black one this time. However, the horse wasn't the only jarring difference. Benjen himself had changed. His skin looked gray. And on his cheeks and over his nose, it seemed to be in the early stages of rot. As soon as I laid eyes on him, my lips felt cold, as did my waist where he had grabbed me._

 _"Benjen?" I choked out. "What happened to you?"_

It was then that my eyes snapped open and I found myself in the dim cavern. I looked to my right and could faintly make out Thoros's snoring body. I looked to the left and saw the dying fire in the pit. I looked at my feet and found that I had kicked my blanket off me in the night.

I sat up to collect the blanket again, as my whole body was freezing cold and not just where Benjen had touched me. But before I could grab the blanket, my hands found their way to my stomach. I closed my eyes tightly and found myself praying that what had happened would be forgiven.

 _I'm sorry, Sandor_ , I thought as I snatched the blanket and wrapped it tightly around myself. I lay myself down and cradled my stomach as my memories of the dream began to fade, save for the cold and disappointment and the shame. _I'm sorry, little pup._

* * *

 **I know what you're thinking: WhEn ThE fUcK aRe SaNdOr AnD fAlLoN gOiNg To ReUnItE?!**

 **My irritatingly vague answer: PLEASE KEEP BEING YOUR AWESOME PATIENT SELVES AND I PROMISE EVERYTHING WILL BE OKAY**

 **Thank you again to everyone for your lovely reviews! I've been feeling very insecure lately and you guys make me feel like I'm actually doing something right. That's why I made this chapter super long (also because you guys have been so great with my lack of consistency LOLOLOL I'M SORRY), just 4 u guys.**

 **Am I even making sense? I am so exhausted, guys.**

 **I heart you all, thank you, thank you, thank you!**


	40. All Men Must

**_Arya Stark woke_** _up to the sound of arguing. She was alone, save for the livestock, laying down on a pile of fresh hay. The kind farmer and his daughter Sally had put her and the Hound up for the night, feeding them rabbit stew. She wondered if it would have been so delicious had they not been starving ever since they ran out of all that chicken…_

 _She was interrupted from her reverie by the muted sound of a punch landing, a man yelling in pain, and a little girl screaming from outside of the barn. Arya sat up and feared the worst._

 _As much as she didn't want to admit it, she had just started to not hate the Hound so much. And after he let her take her own horse, it seemed he was starting to trust her. Yes, he was still the horrible man who had done so many horrible things, but she had reluctantly begun to respect him after their visit at the inn. Was it when he flipped their table and fought the soldiers without mercy? Or was it when he uttered the phrase "fuck the king" to Polliver's face after that sword-stealing prick extolled the virtues of working for the Lannisters?_

 _Whatever it had been, it didn't matter anymore. All of the goodwill she had built towards the Hound, however little there was, disappeared when Arya left the barn and found him crouching over the farmer as he lay on the dirt, groaning and bleeding with his daughter kneeling beside him. Once the Hound had found the hidden silver, he stood up carelessly and strode up the path towards his black horse and Arya's new white one, his head low as he counted the coins._

 _Arya cast the bleeding farmer and Sally an apologetic glance but ultimately continued on after the Hound. She had Needle at her side and she desperately wanted to make good on her threat to put a sword through his eye and out the back of his skull._

 _"What did you do?!" she hollered after him._

 _"Get your horse saddled," he told her, not looking up from the coin purse in his hands._

 _"You_ told me _you weren't a_ thief _!" Arya threw her arms out to the side, remembering what he said about his code the day they attacked Polliver and his men at the inn._

 _"I wasn't."_

 _"He took us in! He_ fed us _! And_ you _—!"_

 _"Aye, he took us in. He's a good man. His daughter makes a nice stew. And they'll both be dead come winter," the Hound said plainly._

 _"You don't know that!" Arya's throat was starting to hurt._

 _"I_ do _know it!" he bellowed, finally stopping to turn around and address her properly. "He's_ weak _," he nodded his head towards the farmer. "He can't protect himself. They'll both be dead come winter. Dead men don't need silver," he finished, holding up the purse and turning back around._

 _"You're the_ worst shit _in the Seven Kingdoms!" Arya screeched out from where she stood._

 _The Hound stopped in his tracks and his body went rigid, as if he was remembering something from long ago. When he finally turned back around, he had a grave look on his face. His mouth was a straight line and there was something in his eyes. It was something between anger and sadness, but Arya didn't care to analyze him in that moment. All she cared about was standing her ground as he stepped closer to her._

 _"There's plenty worse than me," the Hound replied in what almost sounded like a pained voice. "I just understand the way things are. How many Starks they got to behead before_ you _figure it out?"_

 _Arya was fuming when he turned away from her again. Her body was shaking. She hoped if he noticed he wouldn't mistake her anger for fear. She could feel it pumping through her veins. She hated him. She wanted to hurt him. She wanted to hurt him in any way she knew how._

 _"You keep saying Fallon was_ taken _from you," she said in a much icier tone, making him stop once more. "I'll bet you she wasn't. I'll bet you she finally saw you for who you_ really _are. I'll bet you she took her chances and ran as far away from you as she could."_

 _The Hound finally turned back to her one more time and he looked as angry as he ever had. He looked like he was about to hit her, or perhaps do something much worse._

 _"Shut your fucking mouth, Stark bitch," he seethed. "Don't talk about the songbird."_

 _"Or what?" Arya challenged. "Are you going to carve me up like you did to Mycah? Will Aunt Lysa still pay you for my bones?"_

 _The Hound didn't answer. His large chest heaved and she heard him puffing air out of his nose like a bull. But he didn't move. He didn't reach for his sword. He didn't wind his hand back to cuff her. He just glared at her._

 _"Go on," Arya continued bravely. "Do it."_

 _But he didn't. He put the coin purse away and reached into his vambrace as he turned for the last time. Arya stood there, watching as he stormed off to Stranger, holding whatever that stupid gray square was. She wanted to rip it out of his hands and cut it to bits with her Needle._

Why didn't he hurt me? _Arya wondered to herself long after they started riding away from the farm. She didn't necessarily_ want _him to hurt her. But he could have. Easily. He was more than twice her size, armed with a very large sword, covered in heavy plate. He could have cut her in half. He could have squished her like a bug. He could have…slapped her, at least._

 _She wondered about the look on his face when she threw out Fallon's name. She didn't know much about his relationship with her old friend. She'd garnered that somehow, some way, they had been close, friends perhaps. She remembered the day she chased Syrio's cat into Fallon's chamber in the King's Landing. The ginger musician had yelled at her in her doorway. He'd accused them of sleeping together, but Fallon vehemently denied that and then she'd fallen to the ground and sobbed for a long time._

 _Whatever had happened between Fallon and the Hound, it had left a mark on him, just as much as his brother did when he pressed his face to the fire._

* * *

I heard the _thwack_ of the arrow as it lodged itself into the straw man. I glanced up from my sewing and saw Anguy nocking another. He leaned back, drawing and shooting straight up into the air. I watched as the arrow made its arc and came back down, falling onto the straw man's head. Anguy had taken the helm off its head shortly before he began his practice and quickly replaced it with a crown of arrows.

"Impressive," I murmured, turning back to the pair of trousers I had sitting in my lap.

"Not my best work," Anguy tilted his head.

"Better than anything I could do," I grinned in spite of myself.

"You're not wrong there," the archer chuckled and set his bow down so he could take a proper drink of his water. "I'm out of practice. Been far too long since my last tourney."

I looked up at him for a moment and squinted my eyes a bit. "Did you compete in the Tourney of the Hand?"

"I did," Anguy bobbed his head. "Won a great deal of gold."

"Forgive me for not remembering very well," I said.

"Nothing to forgive," he shrugged. "I'm not so arrogant I would think my archery was any more memorable than that swordfight between the brothers Clegane."

I felt a smile begin to tug at my lips as I recalled Sandor's heroics that day. Ser Loras Tyrell would have been in two before he even knew if it hadn't been for my love.

"Whose are those?" Anguy nodded to the trousers I was working on.

"Lem's," I said as I stitched together a hole in the knee, avoiding touching some of the dubious stains in the dark brown fabric.

"Might have a shirt needs mending. If yeh wouldn't mind, of course," Anguy smirked down at me.

"Of course not," I breathed, readjusting myself on the stump I was leaning against.

"Never thought it would be this nice 'aving a woman around," Anguy teased as he twisted his torso to crack his back.

"Oh, dear, I hope I don't lose all of these needles out here in the woods today."

Anguy laughed at my deadpan and went to retrieve the arrows from the straw man's head. Sitting across from me, Thoros lifted his flask to me before returning it to his smirking lips.

"Don't scare Fallon off," the priest called over his shoulder to Anguy after his drink. "We'll need her to sew up all the holes in our clothes before winter comes."

"Ah, I'm not worried. I'm sure I could have Loralye mend my clothes if I asked her nice enough," Anguy grinned as he returned to his original spot. He placed all of his arrows back in his quiver, save for one, which he nocked in his bow.

"Not many could say the same," Thoros bounced his eyebrows. "Loralye would move mountains if you asked her to."

"She's a good woman," Anguy smirked.

The three of us fell silent for a while longer. Thoros drank, Anguy shot, and I sewed. Though it was quiet and I was hard at work, I enjoyed my time seated against the stump. There had been many storms of late, so it felt nice to be outside of the cave, even though the sky was still gray and cloudy. At least the air was fresh and I could smell flowers. It was good for me, and I'd like to think it was good for the little pup growing inside of me.

As the weeks passed, I had started seeing the differences in my body's shape. The curve on my front grew more and more noticeable and when the dress that Loralye had given me became much too tight, I asked Thoros for just enough fabric to be able to let it out. He returned from a raid, arms laden with several rolls and more string, silk, and needles. I ignored that he had likely stolen these items for me, thanking him profusely instead. When I didn't have someone else's clothes to mend, I set to work making my own dresses. I had made quite a few, in fact. Though the older woman and I had had our differences, I hoped I would be making Septa Mordane proud.

I was distracted from my thoughts when I heard a clamor coming from the distance. A sentry yelled that riders were approaching. Then someone was yelling for help. No, not just one person. Two, maybe three. Thoros jumped to his feet with more agility than I would have expected considering how much he drank. Anguy was quick to sling his quiver onto his back and stood at Thoros's side. I put a hand under the bottom of stomach as I stood up to see what was happening, using the stump to help me.

"LET 'EM IN!" hollered out a voice.

"Stay here," Thoros touched my shoulder as he hurried past, Anguy right behind him.

I followed his order, but only for a moment. Once Thoros's faded red surcoat and Anguy's quiver had disappeared amongst the other brothers who had been sitting outside, I threw Lem's trousers on the stump and gathered my skirts. I crept through the woods, standing behind the brother who stood, craning their necks. I squeezed my way through them, the bump in my stomach making it a bit harder than it should have been. Finally, I stood at the front and saw who was being let in.

Thoros and Anguy had flanked a familiar-looking boy between them, his arms hanging on both of their shoulders as they all but dragged him along with them. He was covered in blood and struggling to stay awake, it seemed. Behind them were two other men, both of whom had blood on them as well, but it was hard to tell if it was only their blood or this other boy's blood staining their shirts. One of the wounded lad's companions had clamped his hand on his arm and the other was limping along as they prepared to make their descent down the path towards the mouth of the cave.

As if feeling my gaze, Thoros glanced over at me. For one stupid, selfish moment I worried he might be upset with me for not staying where he told me, then I realized that he had likely forgotten that he'd said that me in the heat of this moment.

"Fallon," he called out. "Grab your needles!"

* * *

My hands didn't start shaking until after I finished stitching the boy's grave wounds. By the time I was finished attempting to tend to him, his eyes were fluttering open again. He'd been in and out of consciousness since he made it into the cave, but only time would tell if he would make it out alive. The only thing I could try to do was make him comfortable, and so I knelt by his side, stroking at his dark hair, keeping it out of his eyes.

"Steve's gone to find milk of the poppy. Lad should be back any moment. Shame we ran out before this had to happen," Thoros muttered to Beric behind me.

"Did the others say what happened?" Beric asked.

"Said he was with the party that went to raid the Frey supply train. Some of our _finest_ got sidetracked and went into the village. Killed some men for their silver and roughed up some girls pretty good before killing them too."

"Was it Gatins?" Anguy whispered.

"No, Gatins went elsewhere to recruit more smallfolk to our cause," Thoros answered. "But I wouldn't put something like this past him."

"H-H-Help," choked out the boy laying by the fire.

"Shh," I grabbed at one of his hands with both of mine, hoping it would stop my shaking. All three hands in this stack on my lap were covered in his blood.

"P-Please," he looked at me with frightened dark blue eyes.

"Everything's going to be alright," I told him, not sure if he was going to make it until Steve returned with milk of the poppy.

"This lad and his friends tried to stop the others," Thoros continued with his story. "This is what they got for it."

"Do we know where the brigands went?" Beric asked.

"Asher said they got away. They would have tried harder to get them, but they wanted to save poor Riddell here," Thoros explained.

"I see," Beric sighed.

"Th-The girls," Riddell said shakily. "They r-raped the girls."

An uncomfortable amount of pressure sat on my chest. I squeezed his hand in both of mine. This poor young man had only tried to help and he was attacked for it. I looked down at him, wondering where he had come from, what had brought him to join the Brotherhood Without Banners. Had he supported the Baratheons? The Tyrells? The Starks? Did he have a family or was he orphaned in this War of the Five Kings?

"Relax, love," I murmured over Riddell's trembling body. "You're with friends now."

But was he? If even members of this brotherhood were going rogue like this… I shivered and gently squeezed Riddell's hand again as he nodded up at me.

"We'll send another party to find them and bring them to justice," Beric stated.

I felt his lone eye on the back of my head, but I couldn't bear to look away from Riddell. I couldn't allow myself to leave him alone in what might be his last moments on this earth. I hardly knew this boy, but he seemed like a good person.

A familiar pair of footsteps approached me from behind and I knew that Thoros was at my side before I even heard his breathy voice.

"You've done well with him," he drawled, staring down at the young man wrapped in bloody bandages.

"Not as well as I'd like to have," I sighed, watching the boy's eyes flutter closed again. I could see his chest shakily heaving and knew he was still alive. "I'm no healer."

"And I was wondering why the Young Wolf didn't marry _you_."

I didn't laugh at Thoros's attempt at a joke.

He cleared his throat and squatted down beside me. "Tell me, Fallon," he said in a more serious tone, "can you read?"

"The Starks made sure of it," I nodded.

"Then perhaps the next time I find myself in town I can see if there's some manuscript that might help you," Thoros offered.

I nodded again, silently this time. I grimaced down at poor Riddell, wishing I had done a cleaner job of stitching him back together and wishing I knew how to make a poultice or salve that could help ease his pain. "Thank you," I finally whispered, just prior to Steve's return being announced. And even after the bearded young man gave me the vial, even after I'd forced the milk down Riddell's throat, even after his shaking stopped and he slept soundly and painlessly, I sat at the injured boy's side, holding his hand, covered in his blood.

* * *

Despite my clumsy handiwork, Riddell soon began to recover. I sat with him for many hours as I set to my mending and dressmaking. He asked me about my pregnancy, if my unborn child was truly the spawn of the Hound. He told me about his life in the Riverlands, how his father was a stonemason and how he was the fourth son out of seven. He told me that he sought out a life of adventure that his humble village couldn't provide. He swore me to secrecy before telling me that he was a bit disappointed when he first joined, as he thought they would be fighting Lannister soldiers every day, not sitting by the fire while Thoros drank and Gatins bragged of his prowess with women. He then mused about how the first adventure he'd actually gone on had ended up with him wounded and near-death, and decided he wouldn't complain about his boredom after that.

It wasn't long before the men who attacked him, his friends, and the people in the village had finally been captured. Riddell had wanted to get up and go into the woods where the prisoners were being held. He wanted to see justice be delivered to them, but even I knew he was too weak.

 _"Your wounds haven't healed yet," I told him. "Your stitches will break, and you'll be dead before you leave the cave."_

 _"Then you must go," he smiled wistfully at me. "Please. Be my eyes."_

That was how I found myself standing between Anguy and Thoros in the woods. I watched as one of the brothers climbed a tree to rig up the four nooses. Then I glanced over to where Beric stood not far away, seeing Lem kick the back of a brigand's legs and drop him to his knees in the dirt like the others.

"You're going to kill them, I take it," I said to Thoros.

The priest nodded. " _Valar morghulis_."

"Pardon?" I cocked an eyebrow.

"High Valyrian," he told me. "Means 'all men must die,' my sweet."

I gulped, my arms absentmindedly wrapping around my stomach as the message sank in. Thoros gave me a quick nod of the head and walked away, going to Beric's side.

"You've sullied the Brotherhood's good name," Beric said to the bruised and bloodied men before him. "Raping and pillaging innocent people like some creature who slithered out of the water surrounding the Iron Islands. But today you will face justice for your crimes. You will hang here in the sight of the one true god."

Beric cocked his head at Lem. The yellow-cloaked man, Gatins, Morgan, and another brother grabbed each of the prisoners by their arms, escorting the bound men to stand on the short logs that stood beneath each noose.

"Have you any last words?" Beric asked, standing in front of the prisoners as Gatins pulled the nooses around their necks.

"Best make 'em good," Gatins sneered. He finished with the last noose and stepped back, grinning several paces away from where Anguy and I stood. "They'll be the last thing any of us'll remember about yeh."

"Wouldn'a done nothin' if _she'd_ just open 'er legs fer us," one of the prisoners growled, jerking his head in my direction. The others made noises in agreement.

My blood ran cold. I held tighter to my swollen belly, willing the babe to give me strength. Beside me, Anguy took a half-step forward.

"We can make this a lot more painful for yeh," he threatened, quieting the prisoners. "I could use some new training dummies."

"Enough," Beric whipped his head around and stared at the archer for a moment before looking at me. I could see in his eye that he was sympathetic towards me, but he had to be true to himself. And so he turned back to the brigands. "If that's all any of you have to say…"

Thoros ambled forward and helped Beric kick the logs out from under the men. I winced as each man fell, wriggling against the ropes that tightened around their necks, only feeling sorry for them because I couldn't imagine what it must have felt like to be hanged. It must have been awful, but not as awful as whatever they had done in that village.

" _Valar morghulis_ ," I whispered to myself before turning to head back to the cave.


	41. Guilt and Pain

**_"Rat cunt," the_** _Hound grunted._

 _Arya Stark stared at him as she polished Needle. He was sitting on a rock past the fire from her, armor off, attempting to stitch the wound on his neck together. He'd been bitten earlier by the man with the sharp teeth—one of the men in the cart with Jaqen. Arya had watched the Hound break the biter's neck with the biter's own body weight and she had to admit she had been impressed. Then the Hound helped her add the biter's friend's name to her list. Rorge. The man who'd continuously threatened to rape her with a stick. Arya poked the ugly fucker right in the heart with her Needle and left him to bleed out on the dirt by that hut._

 _While Arya had made quick work of crossing Rorge's name off her list, she had been disappointed to discover that someone else had taken Joffrey's name for her. Someone had poisoned his wine at his own wedding. The news had been bittersweet to Arya. She wanted to kill him herself and she wanted to make it hurt._

 _"Fucking whore."_

 _"You're doing it wrong," Arya told him. "You need to burn away that horrible bit there. Otherwise it's going to get infected and fester."_

 _The Hound stared at her for a moment with a grimace on his face, then continued with his own aid as if she hadn't even spoken._

 _"I know you don't like fire," Arya set Needle aside, "but if you don't do it right—"_

 _"No fire," he grumbled at her._

 _Arya resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his stubbornness, then hopped onto her feet, approaching the fire she'd set not long before. "It'll only take a second," she said, grabbing a stick and walking towards him. "It won't hurt that mu—"_

 _"NO FIRE!" the Hound roared, jumping up and backing away from her, knocking over some of his armor in the process._

 _Arya froze where she stood. She regarded him with wide eyes. The big, hulking Hound was at her mercy right there in that field in the Riverlands. He stood without his precious armor—Arya's lip was still split from his lesson on that—with the neck of his shirt loosened so much that his left shoulder was bared._

 _Arya had spent so much time wanting to kill the Hound, wanting to get him as vulnerable as she could. And now here he was, as frightened as a woman seeing a mouse. But instead of using this moment to cross another name off her list, she turned away and dropped the stick back in the fire, sitting back down on her rock._

 _"Shut up about it," the Hound said as she grabbed Needle once more. "Shut up about_ everything _," he glared at her. "Thanks to_ you _, I'm a walking bag of silver anywhere the Lannisters hold sway." He fiddled with the needle in his big hands. "Which is everywhere between where we are now and where we're_ going _."_

 _Arya let him talk. She knew he was embarrassed. He was trying to take his pain out on her. He wanted to hurt her just as she had wanted to hurt him. And so she polished her sword and she let him talk._

 _"I'm as stupid as that hog you stuck back in the village," he took a step closer and returned to his seat on his own rock. "Getting myself cut and stabbed and_ bitten _," he punctuated his message by readjusting the neck of his shirt on his shoulder. "No reward's worth this much trouble. Wish I'd never laid eyes on yeh."_

 _Arya looked up from her sword and met the Hound's eyes. He was just sitting there now, not trying to heal his wound anymore. When he noticed she was looking at him, he looked away and swatted at his shoulder. Then he put his needle down beside him on the rock and reached into the wrap around his wrist and pulled that gray square out. Arya narrowed her eyes at it and surmised that was a swatch of fabric, a bit battered around the edges. She wondered where it came from, but she knew this wasn't the right time to ask, so she watched him as he fiddled with it, holding it between his knees before he turned his head back to look at her._

 _"You say your brother gave you that sword," the Hound gestured toward Needle just before Arya set it aside again. "My brother gave me_ this _," he pointed at the ugly scar on his face, twisting his body so she could see it better. At least, she would have if the breeze hadn't blown his hair into his face. "It was just like you said a while back. Pressed me to the fire like I was a nice juicy mutton chop."_

 _Arya glanced at him as he rubbed his thumbs over the gray fabric. She had heard the story from Littlefinger at that tourney, but she wanted to know more and she wanted to know it from_ him _._

 _"Why?" she asked._

 _"Thought I stole one of his toys. I didn't steal it, I was just playing with it," the Hound said quickly and defensively, almost like he was a child once again. "The pain was bad. The smell was worse…" He then shook his head pensively. "But the worst thing was that it was my_ brother _who did it."_

 _Arya thought about her family. She had been closer to Jon than Robb or even Bran and Rickon. But she couldn't imagine any of them doing something so horrendous to her. Not even Sansa, whom she never seemed to get along with. If any of them had pressed_ her _face to the fire…_

 _"My father, who protected him…told everyone my bedding caught fire," the Hound continued. He stared down at the fabric for what felt like a very long time. Then he sighed and lifted his head, turning to look back at Arya. "You think_ yeh're _on yer own?"_

 _Arya felt a lump in her throat. If anyone had asked her earlier that day if she thought she would ever feel bad for_ the Hound _…_

 _"You had Fallon," she said quietly._

 _The Hound gripped the fabric with both hands so tight she thought he was going to rip it. "Aye," he said somberly. "I had Fallon."_

 _"Was she as special to you as she was to me?" Arya asked before realizing what she was saying._

 _The Hound was still for a moment, then slowly nodded his head. "She was."_

 _Arya thought about her old friend. She thought about how Fallon would try to explain to her that the Hound wasn't all bad, that he was only following orders. Arya hadn't wanted to believe her. She would be lying if she said she hadn't felt a bit betrayed by Fallon in those moments. Fallon had been the only one aside from Jon who truly understood her. Then she started going on about black and white and the gray between._

 _Arya began to wonder what shade of gray Fallon thought the Hound was. Perhaps the shade of the swatch in his hands._

 _"She was the only person who ever… The only person_ I _ever…" the Hound shook his head slowly, unable to finish either of his sentences. Then he lifted the fabric up to show Arya. "This is all I have left of her."_

 _"What happened to her?" Arya asked, the lump in her throat growing._

 _"She was mine. And I was hers," he murmured just loud enough for her to hear what he said. "We left King's Landing when the Blackwater was on fire… Rode through the Riverlands, just as we are now… Don't know where I was going to take her. Back to the North, might have been. Maybe to the Free Cities. She liked the water…" The Hound balled the fabric in his hand and then smoothed it back out between his palms. "I was ashamed of myself. Leaving the fight to cower in her skirts… I couldn't bear to look at her, to speak to her. All I could do was drink. The songbird was upset with me. We argued and she left that tavern…" He heaved a great sigh and glanced at Arya for a moment. "Some men had been taking women from that village and tying them up to trees… Leaving 'em for the wolves."_

 _Arya sat up a bit straighter._

 _"Those men took the songbird. Wolves got one of 'em. I took care of the rest," the Hound swallowed hard enough for Arya to see his neck bobbing from where she sat. "They cut this out of her skirt. All I have left of her…"_

 _The Hound looked forward, running his fingers over the wrinkled, ratty swatch. His chest rose and fell several times as they sat there in silence. He glanced at Arya one more time, then looked at the fabric._

 _"She wanted me to stop drinking," he continued. "I did. For a couple of days. Couldn't stop thinking about her. How I couldn't save her. Guilt was so bad I couldn't sleep. So I started drinking again. More than I had been before she was taken from me. Passed out. Captured," the Hound caught Arya's eye and he looked sadder than she had ever seen him before. "You know the rest."_

 _Arya wanted to tell him that he deserved to feel guilty, that he never deserved to sleep again for letting Fallon be taken. But over their time together, she had seen the sadness in his eyes. She had seen the way he played with that fabric. She had seen the pain he still felt. And now she found that while she still told herself she hated him, she pitied this broken, lonely man._

 _"I had dreams," Arya said instead. "Before you and I were ever captured by the Brotherhood. When I was still wandering about with Gendry and Hot Pie. I had dreams about my direwolf, Nymeria. They felt so real… She found Fallon in the woods. Alive. She walked with her, comforted her, kept her safe."_

 _"I've dreamt about the songbird every night. Doesn't mean she's really there," the Hound mumbled, his eyes back on the fabric._

 _Arya furrowed her brow and opened her mouth to snap back at him and tell him she was only trying to be nice, but she stopped herself. He was grieving just as much as she was, possibly even more._

 _She sighed and licked her lips. She tasted the dried blood on the cut on her lip, thanks to the Hound cuffing her when she tried to stab him. Arya found it interesting how he wouldn't hurt her for what she said at the farm, but her wedging her sword into his brigandine was enough to warrant a backhanded slap. He had provoked her by mocking Syrio. He, the_ Hound _, had_ giggled _at her water dancing…_

 _But she wouldn't hold a grudge about her split lip. Not anymore._

 _"You really loved her, then?" Arya simply asked, piecing together that it was likely Fallon's influence that kept him from hurting her that one day._

 _When the Hound didn't respond verbally, fidgeting more with the swatch, she took that to mean yes. Then she looked at her skin of water sitting by Needle._

 _"Let me wash it out," she jerked her head towards his neck. "And help you sew it up, at least."_

 _The Hound still didn't say anything, but he nodded his head yes. Arya hopped up once again, grabbing the waterskin and uncapped it. She stood behind the Hound, feeling very small even as he was sitting. She placed her free hand on the warm skin of his shoulder to keep him steady and she gently poured her water onto the dried blood and broken skin. Then she reached down and grabbed the needle from the rock._

 _And she took him off her list._

* * *

"Thank you, lads," I said from the boulder I was seated upon, holding the book Thoros had procured for me. "Don't know as I'd be able to get back up if I crouched down like that."

"Always happy to help," Riddell said to me over his shoulder as he picked at the herbs growing along the riverbank. Fortunately, the boy had healed nicely. After many, many months, it was as if nothing had even happened to him. He was strong, while I was ready to burst.

"Oi," Steve poked his head up from the river and raised his hand. With his short black hair and closely-cropped beard, he looked much older than Riddell, despite being within a few years. But the way he was presenting his hand to me, with something small and dark slithering on his palm, reminded me of a child. "Got a leech on me," he said in an annoyed tone, which he was clearly using to hide his slight panic.

"They're supposed to go _in_ the jar, mate," Riddell snickered.

I tutted, grinning as I shook my head. "I told you to wear gloves, didn't I?"

Steve's cheeks flushed with color from what I could see. He put his jar of water on the grass of the riverbank, not far from where his compatriot was, and made quick work of ripping the leech off his palm, leaving a small pink mark. It had hardly been attached to him, thankfully, and he dropped it into the jar.

"This enough?" he asked, holding it up to me.

I could hardly see anything, as the water was murky, so I put the book down. I placed my hands under my very round stomach and lifted myself from the rock get a closer look. To help me, Riddell took the jar from Steve and got up to hand it to me. I held it up into the sunlight and squinted at the leeches swimming about inside.

"This should be enough for a while, I suppose," I nodded, twisting the cover back onto the jar and holding it under my elbow. "Thanks very much, Steve. Would you be a dear and see if you can find me any nettles now?"

"Aye," Steve nodded, jumping back up onto the riverbank.

"Riddell, you as well," I smiled at the wavy-haired one. "I'll take what you have, love."

Riddell bobbed his head and reached down to hand me the basket he had collected his herbs in. I smiled and nodded my thanks to him before he and Steve darted off into the woods in search of nettles.

I returned to my rock and set the jar of leeches down by my book. There was a dark brown bag I had been given by Thoros after yet another raid. I had taken to putting my healing supplies in the bag and trying to carry it wherever I went, just so I could help any injured brothers.

I sat back down to relieve my sore, swollen feet. Then I took out a few pieces of string from the bag and began sorting the herbs out, tying up the wormwood, the arnica, the yarrow, and so on. I could hear twigs snapping behind me as I restocked my bag, but I thought nothing of it, as I knew Steve and Riddell were not far away.

Soon enough, I felt a presence behind me. My stomach began to flutter and I wondered if that was my baby trying to warn me of something. I was about to turn around to see who was there when a pair of arms wrapped around my neck and the upper part of my chest. I struggled against the arms, dropping my handful of sage. I clawed at the arms around me, screaming out for help before the arm around my neck let go and a dirty hand clamped over my mouth. I tried to bite at the hand to no avail.

"Shut the fuck up, yeh lit'le bitch," a familiar voice hissed in my ear.

I kept trying to fight him off, but he was much too strong for me. He pressed me up against his solid front, gripping me so tightly that it hurt, but I wasn't going to give up, not while my baby still grew inside of me.

" _Listen to me_ ," the man seethed in his high-pitched voice. It was then that I realized it was Gatins holding onto me. "Yer very lucky, girl. Didja know that?"

I wriggled against him, trying my best to reach back and elbow him, but I couldn't. There were tears brimming in my eyes as I resorted to clawing at his arms again.

"Very lucky. You've got good friends, but where're they now? Thoros and Anguy ain't here to help you. Your lit'le boys couldn't cut me with Valyrian steel," Gatins squeezed me and I began to fear the worst was going to happen. "Yeh're also lucky I don't quite like my girls _big_."

I closed my eyes and tried to muster up the strength to burst forward and run, even with my cumbersome belly and my sore feet. But then Gatins said something that cast a terrible chill over my body.

"'Course…I suppose I _could_ take my sharp lit'le knife…and cut that whelp right outta yeh myself…"

I tried to scream against his hand and all he did was laugh at my attempts. Then he pulled me to the side to get me off of the rock and press me against his whole body now.

"Stupid cunt," he chortled. "Think you're untouchable just 'cause the Hound squirted that lit'le whelp into your belly? Heh, Dondarrion likes to blow his hot air, don't he? _'He could very well find us again one day.'_ Piss on that. We haven't seen hide nor hair of that ugly fucker. Not since his trial. I reckon we won't see him _ever_ again. Beric and Thoros can't keep all three of their eyes on yeh at all times, can they?"

"Fallon?" a voice in the woods called out. It sounded like Riddell. And it sounded close. "Are you alright?"

But before Gatins could even think about threatening me, I felt a cramping sensation in my abdomen, not much different than when I had my blood, except much worse. My knees buckled in pain and I felt myself start to fall. Gatins held me up as I grunted against his hand.

"The fuck is this?" he asked shrilly, letting go of my mouth.

"H-Help," I whimpered, holding onto my stomach as the cramping continued.

"Fallon!" the voice of Riddell came out from the forest. He ran out in front of me, just as Gatins let go. Riddell caught me in his arms from the front and eased me onto the ground. He helped me sit against the rock as Gatins disappeared back into the forest.

"The fuck is going on? We heard screaming," Steve said after he rushed over. "I saw Gatins running away—what did he do?"

"Help!" I repeated myself, squeezing my eyes shut.

"W-What? Fallon, what's happening?!" Riddell yelped.

"Get help!" I squeezed his arms tightly.

"GO!" Riddell hollered at Steve. He looked back at me as Steve ran off. "Is…Is it the babe?"

"I don't know," I breathed, loosening my grip as the cramping seemed to end. The boy turned fuzzy around the edges from the tears in my eyes.

"Whatever it is…I am here with you. I won't leave your side," Riddell assured me. "Just as you wouldn't leave mine."

* * *

 **Hey, you guys! Banged this out in basically one day, ur welcome.**

 **So, as you can probs tell, I put a little timeskip with Fallon's story-line, for ME and for YOU, haha. Also, I think it bears mentioning that Fallon and Arya/Sandor's storylines don't _exactly_ match up. Like, they're occurring in a similar time span, but just as with every episode of GOT, the stories aren't _perfectly_ concurrent. **

**Thank you so much for everyone who has stuck with me. I know all this time with Sandor and Fallon being apart is probably frustrating, but...let's just say...I have a lot of "outline" notes at the bottom of my story and we are plowing right through them, my friends. Satisfaction is so close I can almost taste it**


	42. Do It

**_The water was_** _cool as it splashed at my ankles. I stepped carefully into the bay, weary of sharp rocks beneath my feet. I wandered in further, eager to cool myself down and get wet on this hot spring day in King's Landing._

 _"Careful now, sweetling! There's a drop-off nearby."_

 _I stopped and whipped around. At the edge of the rocky beach sat a woman in a pale blue dress hugging her knees. She had discarded her sandals and was letting the Blackwater ebb and flow onto her feet. Her long hair was the color of chestnut, but a few strands had been bleached from many hours spent outside. She smiled at me warmly and lifted one hand to shade her gray-green eyes from the rays of the sun._

 _"I'll be careful, mummy, I promise," I called over my shoulder._

 _I turned back around and waded towards one of the jagged rocks poking out from the water. I grabbed onto the hot stone and pulled my five year-old body up to the top. I sat with my feet in the water and stared out into the bay._

 _Past the fortress, there was water as far as the eye could see. I stared out, feeling the sun beat down upon my bare shoulders. I heard the sound of footsteps splashing in the water behind me and suddenly felt a slender hand upon my back._

 _"Do you know what lies across the Narrow Sea from us?" my mother's voice whispered in my ear._

 _I shook my head no and glanced at my mother standing beside me, her skirts bunched up to her knees._

 _"My father, he was a man of the sea. He told me several tales of Essos." My mother straightened up and continued to stroke my back over the dark pink dress I was wearing. "Pirates with colorful sails, swordsmen in flashy armor, men with many faces…" She then tugged at a strand of my hair. "Would you like to go there someday? To the Free Cities?"_

 _I nodded my head._

 _"That settles it, little one," my mother grinned down at me. "One day, I promise you, we will swim to the Free Cities."_

 _"Can we go now?" I asked excitedly._

 _"Oh, my sweet child," she laughed. "You've only just learned to swim. You won't make it out of the bay."_

 _"I'll practice! I'll_ try _!"_

 _"Good, I'm glad you've been listening to me," she patted my back. "Just as with your lute, you're never going to get any better if you don't try."_

 _"Artemys!"_

 _We both turned our heads around and I felt the bottom of my stomach fall out. There was a man standing at the edge of the rocky shore. His dark hair was short on his head, but his beard tickled his chest. He stared across the water at us, his hands on his hips. He looked at me with cold gray eyes._

 _"Ah, Gannon," my mother smiled at him. "Come, feel the water. Swim with us, my love."_

 _"There's no time," he barked._

 _"There's always time," my mother grabbed onto my shoulder._

 _"Yeh need to go," my father hissed. Then he turned his gaze back to me. "And papa needs to cut yer hair."_

My eyes snapped open and my chest started to heave; my body was sweating from my hairline to my toes. I was met with the dimness of the cave, the fire burning not far from where I lay.

"Gods be good," a woman's voice whispered above my head. "She's awake."

"You're alright, Fallon, relax," a lazy voice drawled by my feet.

"Thoros?" I reached out blindly but found nothing.

"Be still," the priest leaned over and peered at me. "You fainted, darling. Right after you…"

My mind flashed back to the riverbank. I could feel Gatins's arms around me. I could hear him threatening me. Then all I remembered was pain. The worst pain I had ever experienced in my life.

"My…my baby…" I puffed out. "Where…Where is my baby?"

"Hush, now, Ella," came the woman's voice. I saw Loralye step out from behind me and stand near where Thoros was crouching at my feet. She was holding a bundle in her arms and I could see a tiny head poking out from the dark red cloth. "I just got her to sleep."

"Her?" I echoed, leaning up on my elbows. "I…I have a daughter?"

"Aye, you do," Loralye smiled down at the bundle in her arms.

"When…When did you get here?" I asked.

"Did you hit your head when you fainted?" she cocked an eyebrow at me.

"I don't… My memory seems a bit foggy," I admitted.

"We sent Anguy to bring Loralye here," Thoros grabbed my foot over my blanket and gave it a gentle squeeze. "She helped you give birth."

I met the tavernkeeper's eyes and did my best to smile at her. "Thank you, Loralye. May…May I hold her?"

"My pleasure," Loralye smiled back. Then she looked down at Thoros beside her. "Prop her up, would you? I brought those pillows just for her."

Thoros nodded and stood up. He gathered a set of two pillows by my side and stacked them behind me, then he grabbed me from under my arms and pulled me up to lean against them. It was then that I realized I was naked beneath my blanket and I tried to hold it up against my chest.

"Don't you worry about that, love," Loralye told me. "You'll be needing to feed this one soon." She smirked at Thoros behind me and added, "I highly doubt yours would be the first _that_ one's seen either."

"You make me sound like a filthy old lecher," Thoros scowled, sitting beside me on the ground.

"Am I wrong?" Loralye murmured as she knelt down carefully, placing the bundle in my arms. "When I had Collyn, the midwife told me it was good to hold the babe against you, skin-to-skin. Helps with bonding, I believe."

I nodded and let her pull down the dark red cloth, revealing the babe curled up asleep. My eyes welled with tears as I took her in. Her cheeks were round and rosy, and she had tiny dark hair sprouting from the top of her head. Sandor's little pup, my little girl…

She melted into my chest when I laid her against me and my tears began to fall silently. I wished Sandor could have been there to hold me, to hold her. I wish I could have seen his reaction to the darling child in my arms. I wish I could have told him we were expecting. I wish I could have felt him touch my stomach whenever she kicked.

"She's beautiful," Loralye cooed, pointing her finger to stroke the babe's soft back.

"Have you thought of any names?" Thoros asked.

"I'm going to name her after my mum," I looked into the priest's eyes. "Artemys."

* * *

" _The Father's face is stern and strong, he sits and judges right from wrong. He weighs our lives, the short and long, and loves the little children._

 _"The Mother gives the gift of life, and watches over every wife. Her gentle smile ends all strife, and she loves her little children._

 _"The Warrior stands before the foe, protecting us where e'er we go. With sword and shield and spear and bow, he guards the little children._

 _"The Crone is very wise and old, and sees our fates as they unfold. She lifts her lamp of shining gold to lead the little children._

 _"The Smith, he labors day and night, to put the world of men to right. With hammer, plow, and fire bright, he builds for little children._

 _"The Maiden dances through the sky, she lives in every lover's sigh. Her smiles teach the birds to fly, and gives dreams to little children._

 _"The Seven Gods who made us all, are listening if we should call. So close your eyes, you shall not fall, they see you little children. Just close your eyes, you shall not fall, they see you, little children._ "

Artemys opened her mouth and screwed up her face as she yawned, then leaned her head into the crook of my elbow and dozed off.

"I only counted six gods in your song," Thoros teased me as he polished his sword not far from my bedroll.

"Ah, yes, because singing about how the Stranger loves to kill little children is going help them fall asleep," I rolled my eyes.

Thoros snickered and shook his head.

"I hope my rendition of 'The Song of the Seven' wasn't too offensive," I smirked at him. "I'm afraid I don't know any songs about the Lord of Light."

Thoros sighed and shook his head some more.

"My mother, she used to sing that to me," I told him, smiling sadly down at my daughter sleeping in my arms. "I don't have many memories of her, but I remember her singing. She had a lovely voice."

"As do you," Thoros bobbed his head at me.

"Many thanks," I responded. "I sang that song to Arya, when she was a babe herself. I heard her crying one night. Lady Catelyn was struggling to quiet her down. I offered to grab my lute and play for the babe. Catelyn allowed me to and as soon as I started playing and singing, the crying stopped. And little Arya…she smiled at me."

It was almost as if Thoros could see the lump in my throat as I finished this story. The corners of his lips turned up slightly and he reached down to take Artemys from my arms. He cradled her to his chest. I could see Artemys nestling up against him and I knew that even at seven days old she felt as safe with Thoros as I did. If Sandor couldn't be here, I was glad Thoros was.

"I thought they still believed in the Old Gods in the North," the priest raised an eyebrow.

"They do. But Catelyn brought the Seven with her to Winterfell," I explained. "She asked me if I knew that song, since I was born in King's Landing."

"You were?"

"Have I never told you that?"

"Guess not."

"Ah, yes, my friend, I am originally from King's Landing. Queen Cersei fashioned a title for me. _Fallon of Flea Bottom_ , she used to call me. She thought she was so clever," I smirked in spite of myself. "My story is a long and unhappy one. I'm sure I'll tell it to you some day."

"I'm sure you will," Thoros stood up gingerly and walked Artemys to the bassinet made by one of the brothers, Wallis. I watched him tuck her into the dark red cloth, then he leaned in and stroked her face with a crooked finger before coming back to stand in front of me. He reached down and held out his hands to me to help me stand up.

"What say we let her sleep and enjoy some fresh air?" Thoros asked me, cocking his head towards the mouth of the cave.

Before I could answer, I felt eyes staring at me from across the fire. I found Gatins playing with his dirk, a menacing look on his face. He made a great show of touching his cheek with the blade and pretending to be in pain before silently laughing to himself. The whole scene riddled my skin with gooseflesh as I turned my eyes back to Thoros.

"No," I shook my head subtly, knowing Gatins was watching me. "We can go outside, but not without her."

"Is everything alright?" Thoros grabbed my arm.

"I'm not leaving my daughter here alone," I said simply.

Thoros examined my face for a moment before letting go and reaching down to grab his sword and sheath it. He waited for me to bundle Artemys up and place her back in my arms. I held her head up against my shoulder and listened to her breathe.

I followed Thoros out of the cave and walked along the path with him. I considered telling him about what had happened with Gatins the day I went into labor, but then we crossed paths with his friend Morgan. The man glared at me from under his curly blonde hair and I found myself shivering. While I knew that Thoros would do anything he could to make me feel safe, I worried what Gatins' friends might do in retaliation.

"Look at those two," Thoros murmured into my ear as we approached the Brotherhood's makeshift training yard.

Anguy was standing behind Loralye, his hands guiding her as she pulled back an arrow. He leaned in closely to her, his face pressed against hers, and helped her release. With a loud _thwack_ , the arrow plunged into the straw man's chest.

"Excellent," Thoros softly clapped his gloved hands together, grinning as the archer and the tavernkeeper jumped.

"Well done," I smiled.

Loralye's face was bright red. She let go of the bow and took a quick step away from Anguy. I noticed his face fall as he stared at the back of her head.

"I thought you would only be staying here for a few days," I added.

"I thought so as well," Loralye folded her arms across her chest. "I, er, I wanted to be sure you'd be all right with your babe."

"And I thank you for all of your help, but who's to keep your tavern without you being there?" I asked.

"My father is helping Collyn," Loralye answered. "He was there when Anguy came for me. They both knew I might be gone for some time…"

I nodded, noticing the smile that involuntarily tugged at her lips when she mentioned the archer's name.

"I've been meaning to tell you," she stepped closer. "I heard loads of gossip before I was brought here. Mostly about some silver queen across the sea, conquering parts of Essos. They say she has three dragons, but I'm not sure I believe—forgive me, now I'm babbling on about other things." Loralye came towards me and reached up to stroke the soft brown hair atop Artemys's head. "This little one's father—the Hound, they called him…"

"What is it?" I asked, my mouth going dry. "Tell me."

"He killed a hundred silver stags' worth of Lannister soldiers," Loralye told me.

"When?" I breathed.

"Couldn't tell you," she gave me an apologetic grimace. "Some word travels faster than others. Way I heard it, it seemed to have happened months ago."

"Have you heard any other news of him?" I asked.

"I'm afraid not," she shook her head.

"He could still be in the Riverlands," I gulped, holding Artemys tighter to me.

"He could be anywhere, Fallon," Thoros told me.

"I need to find him," I whispered.

"Do you really think you're in any state to go travel across Westeros?" the priest cocked an eyebrow at me.

When I didn't answer, he marched past us and went to Anguy's side. The two men started speaking in hushed tones, but I didn't care to eavesdrop.

"He's right, you know," Loralye touched Artemys's head once more. "And you've got this one to take care of. She needs you more than you need _him._ Collyn's father left me a long time ago, but I put my child first. I carried on and I made sure he was safe."

"Sandor didn't _leave_ me."

Loralye sighed and put her hand on my cheek. "You have a child now. A beautiful daughter who needs all of your love. She must be your top priority. Keep her safe."

I nodded at her words and listened to Artemys breathe against my collarbone.

"If it's true love, perhaps the gods will bring him back to you," Loralye murmured, glancing over her shoulder at Anguy.

"Is that what the two of you have?" I asked. "True love?"

"Pardon?" Loralye snapped her head back to me.

"I've seen the way you are with him," I felt myself begin to smirk.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" she asked, red-faced yet again. She looked even more flustered when I cocked an eyebrow at her. "It's all for the sake of business. Sure, he's a handsome lad, but—"

"I've seen the way you look at him," I cut her off. "There's love in those eyes."

Loralye's mouth was still hanging open from my interruption. She gulped, then looked back over her shoulder at Anguy for a long time. When she finally met my gaze once more, her lips were firmly pressed together, as if she was trying to hide her smile.

"You must still be delirious from the labor," she said quickly. "Best go and rest. Perhaps you'll sleep this madness off."

"Why deny it?" I asked, holding fast to Artemys when Loralye tried to grab her from my arms. "You said it yourself, he's a handsome lad. Kind and honorable. And he's clearly smitten with you."

Loralye looked at her feet. "There's no future with him."

"And who said that?" I cocked an eyebrow.

"He's part of the Brotherhood."

"And the man I love was sworn to the _Kingsguard_ ," I pointed out. "G'wan, Loralye. You'll be full of regret if you do nothing."

And with one last look at me, the woman with wavy black hair turned on her heel and approached Anguy and Thoros. I saw her touch the archer's arm and whisper something in his ear. Thoros exchanged glances with me as the skin beneath Anguy's beard flushed. I watched as he said something quickly to Thoros and then followed Loralye into the forest.

The priest and I continued on our stroll around the Brotherhood's land, whispering to each other about how we knew this a long time coming. We snickered about Anguy's excuse—" _Loralye wants to help me hunt for our supper_ "—and how he left without his bow and quiver. When we returned to the training yard after quite a long time, we saw the two in question coming back through the trees.

Loralye was leading Anguy behind her, connected by their pinky fingers. She let go when she thought she was in view. Anguy looked rather pleased with himself, a large bruise-looking mark on the side of his neck.

"Couldn't find anything to share for supper?" Thoros grinned as they came closer.

Embarrassed, Loralye tried to walk past us, but then Thoros reached out and pulled a twig from her messy waves, causing her to stop in her tracks. I found myself unable to control my smirk as Loralye's face turned bright red for the umpteenth time that day.

"Shut up about it," she muttered, scurrying past.

* * *

 _"Arya? Arya?! ARYA!"_

 _Arya Stark could hear the big woman hollering from below. Brienne of Tarth had encountered her and the Hound as they wandered through the rolling mountains of the Vale. Arya had been impressed with her at first. She had bonded with this enormously tall blonde woman over their tomboyish natures, but when the Hound began to question her…_

 _He pointed out her Lannister steel and Arya took note of her squire's surname being Payne. Her squire recognized the Hound and then Brienne deduced Arya's identity. Brienne claimed to have sworn vows to Arya's mother, to protect her and to bring Arya and Sansa home. Then she claimed Lady Catelyn commanded her to bring the Kingslayer back to King's Landing. But Arya found it impossible to trust this woman with a Lannister sword at her hip._ Oathkeeper _, she had the audacity to call it when she couldn't even keep Arya's mother alive._

 _Brienne tried to take Arya, drawing that Valyrian steel sword, but the Hound wouldn't let her. Now that most of Arya's family was dead, including her Aunt Lysa, and the Hound had no one to sell her to anymore, he admitted to Brienne that he was watching over her. And despite the infection from the bite on his neck, despite the fact that they hadn't had a decent meal since they downed Sally's rabbit stew, he fought the big woman._

 _Arya snuck away from the Payne boy as it all went down. He had been watching the fight rather than grabbing her so they could take her to "safety." But Arya wondered the same thing the Hound had asked out loud—"_ Where the fuck's that? _" So she crept around the rocks and climbed up above. She watched as the Hound put his all into fighting this woman. He never gave up, even after she had disarmed him. He'd grabbed her steel with his bare hands and the two wrestled and kicked and punched until the Hound ultimately tumbled off the cliff._

 _"Where is she?!" Brienne demanded just after Arya leaned away to hide from her._

 _"She was just here!" the Payne boy replied in a wobbly voice._

 _"WHY WEREN'T YOU WATCHING HER?!"_

 _"I was watching_ you _! I thought you might need some help!"_

 _Ever the dutiful squire, Arya thought._

 _"WHICH WAY, POD?! Which way did she go?!"_

 _"I-I-I think that way."_

 _"Arya! ARYA!"_

 _It was then that Arya stood up from the rock she was perching behind, Needle scraping at the crag. She was careful as she climbed down and finally made her way to the bottom. She walked around the cliff and reached the grass and softer earth. She almost didn't notice him at first, but then she saw the Hound pulling himself backwards up the hill._

 _He was bruised and bloody and he was panting loudly. His armor was peeling in places, revealing his shoulder, and one of his legs was stretched out long. He stopped moving when he noticed her. His glistening brown eyes followed her as she stepped around his feet and went to sit on a rock a couple yards away._

 _"You still here?" he asked. Then he coughed loudly._

 _Arya didn't answer. She looked at the dark blood that had dripped from the corner of his mouth into his beard. Then she took a glimpse of his outstretched leg. There was a giant hole in his trousers and a bone sticking out of his bloody and battered skin._

 _The Hound glanced up towards the cliff he had fallen down, then looked back at her. "Big bitch saved you," he said._

 _"I don't need saving," Arya replied._

 _"No, not you. You're a real killer. With your water dancing." He still managed to sneer at her, even in this much pain. "And your Needle."_

 _"You gonna die?" Arya asked._

 _"Unless there's a maester hiding behind that rock…aye, I'm done," he admitted._

 _Arya stared at him as he squirmed. He was going to die. She should have been happy. She hated him. She hated this man who killed Mycah, who followed Joffrey's orders, who lost Fallon, who kidnapped her. She hated this man who carried her away from the Red Wedding, who had knocked her to the ground so the Frey soldiers wouldn't kill her, who fought Brienne of Tarth to protect her. She hated this man._

 _Didn't she?_

 _"I'd skin you alive for wine," he muttered._

 _Arya reached for her flask, but he interrupted her attempt at a good deed._

 _"Fuck water," he barked. He looked down his front at his sorry self, then looked at Arya, laughing at himself. "Killed by a woman… I bet you like that."_

 _Arya continued to stare at him as she tried to remind herself how much she hated him._

 _"Go on," he said. "Go after her. She'll help you."_

 _Arya simply shook her head._

 _"Going it alone," the Hound mused, shaking his head too. "You won't last a day out there."_

 _"I'll last longer than you," Arya said flatly._

 _The Hound breathed loudly, looking around his surroundings until he met her gray eyes again. "You remember where the heart is?"_

 _Arya nodded. Of course she did. He showed her when he put that man from the hut out of his misery. She'd even applied this knowledge right after she learned, when she crossed Rorge off her list._

 _"Fuck it. I'm ready," he said, bracing himself._

 _Arya didn't move._

 _"Go on, girl," the Hound encouraged. "Another name off your list. You kept promising me."_

 _Arya didn't move._

 _"I cut down yer butcher's boy," he said. "The ginger. He was begging for mercy. 'Please, Ser. Please don't kill me. Please, please.'" He grimaced and reclined his head back in pain. "Bled all over my horse. Saddle stunk of butcher's boy for weeks."_

 _Arya didn't move._

 _"And yer sister. Yer pretty sister. I should've taken her. That night the Blackwater burned. I should've_ fucked her bloody. _"_

 _Arya didn't move._

 _"I never loved yer handmaiden. I just wanted an easy fuck without losing any silver. At least I'd have_ some _happy memories. She was stupid enough to think I wanted more from her than that. Opened her legs for me like she was one of Littlefinger's whores. Soon as I got tired of her, I let her die."_

 _Arya still didn't move._

 _She knew what he had been trying to do as soon as he mentioned Mycah. She knew he was trying to goad her into killing him. And he was using everything—her friend, her family, her handmaiden. He was lying about Sansa. And he was lying about Fallon. Arya could see the piece of fabric from the latter's skirt clenched in his fist as he spoke._

 _The Hound stared at her, waiting. As soon as he seemed to realize how aware of his ploy she was, he looked down at the fabric and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before looking back at her._

 _"Let me see her again," he said quietly, lifting his hand with the fabric so she could see it. "I need to see her again."_

 _Arya didn't move._

 _"Do I have to beg you?" the Hound asked, sounding like he was about to weep. "Do it."_

 _Arya didn't move._

 _"Do it," he repeated, his lips trembling. "_ Do _it."_

 _She finally stood up. The Hound looked at her with as close to a smile as she'd ever seen. He thought she was going to fulfill his wishes. He watched her slowly step over to him, her hand on Needle's hilt. She crouched down beside him and reached into the top of his boot to grab the coin purse he had stolen from the farmer._

 _With what little strength the Hound had left, he tried to lean forward and grab Needle so he could finish the deed himself. But Arya stood up quickly. She stared down at him one last time and started walking._

 _"Kill me," he said as she went past his feet again, sounding more annoyed than anything._

 _Arya didn't stop._

 _"Kill me!" he shouted after her. "KILL ME!"_

 _Arya wasn't sure exactly what kept her from killing him. She could keep telling herself she hated him. She could tell herself she wanted him to suffer through a slow, painful death alone in the Vale. She could even tell herself it was because she decided to take him off her list._

 _"KILL ME!"_

 _But what she couldn't tell herself was that after all of this time, she didn't want him to die. So she kept walking, hoping the silver left over in the purse was enough to charter her a ship to take her to the Wall. To take her to Jon._

 _"_ KILL ME _!"_

* * *

 **I can't even tell you how much that scene where Sandor falls off the cliff broke me the first time I watched this show...**


	43. The Harm of It

**_Sandor Clegane didn't_** _remember much after the Stark girl left him. He didn't know how long he lay there under the cliff, cursing Arya for not putting him out of his misery. He didn't remember Brother Ray finding him either._

 _Most of what_ did _remember was hazy. The pain kept him in and out of consciousness for a long time. He had faint memories of a cart, a tent, a man, a woman, and more pain. Pain all over his body; his ear and his neck and his shoulder and his thigh in particular._

 _The first coherent memory he recollected occurred in the middle of one night. His eyes opened suddenly and he found he was in a tent lit only by a few candles, his body drenched in sweat. He looked to his side out of the corner of his eye and found a bench covered in what looked like medical supplies. Before he could even think about taking notice of what sat beside the bandages, he heard a loud sound of snoring._

 _He tried to turn onto his other side to see who was in the tent with him, but he grunted as the searing pain shot up his right leg. The pain was so bad that Sandor thought he might pass out on the table he lay on. The snoring stopped for a moment with a lone snort, then recommenced after Sandor laid still. He turned only his head this time and found a man sitting in a chair not far from the table._

 _From what he could see, the man didn't appear to be very tall. He was much older than Sandor. His curly hair and scruffy beard were still clinging to his natural shade of black, but gray and white had taken over in some areas. His hands were folded over his slight paunch and his head was resting against his shoulder. All he wore was a dirty roughspun shirt and trousers, with a leather belt wrapped around his waist. There was also a shiny pendant dangling from his neck—a seven-pointed star._

 _Though Sandor couldn't place him, the man felt very familiar to him. He wondered if he had been the man who had found him in the Vale, who had put his body on a cart and dragged him along with him. Instead of thinking anymore about it, Sandor rested on the back of his head once again and let himself fall back asleep, despite the man's snoring._

 _The next coherent memory was when Sandor woke up to the ghost of Fallon in his tent._

 _At least, he_ thought _she was Fallon's ghost. He had woken up once more in the middle of the night. It could have been the very next night after seeing the septon, it could have been weeks later, or anything in between. Sandor wouldn't have known the difference. With all of the pain and the milk of the poppy that had been forced down his throat, his sense of time was a bit off._

 _He half-expected to wake up and see the canvas from the tent. But when his eyes opened in the dim tent, they met the face of a woman. She had light eyes and dark hair. Her skin was so pale it almost glowed in the dark. She was staring straight at him, unafraid, interested._

The songbird _, he remembered thinking._ Who else would look at me that way?

 _He tried to lift a hand to touch her, but his body felt so heavy. It didn't matter, though. He blinked and she disappeared. He didn't recall much after that moment, except for the feeling of peace at long last._

 _After what had felt like forever, Sandor finally woke up in the daytime. He was in the same bloody tent, laying on the same bloody table. He felt slightly better, but not by much. He was able to lift his head and look down at his body. He was naked, save for the threadbare blanket that only covered him from his feet to the middle of his torso. His fingers on his right hand were sore as they clenched something. He stretched his fingers out, ignoring the ache, and found that swatch of fabric in his palm. He grimaced and held tight to it once again, not willing to lose the one thing in this world he still cared about. Under the blanket, he could feel something tight wrapped around his thigh. He tried to move his leg again, but winced in pain._

" _I wouldn't be trying that," came the deep and ragged, yet warm and friendly voice of the septon. "Yeh're in rough shape, m'friend."_

 _Sandor managed to sit up on his elbows and barked at the graying septon who stood in the entrance of the tent. "I'm not yer friend," he remembered saying to him, glaring._

 _The septon was unfazed. He smiled knowingly at Sandor, which only made him angrier. Did he sound that pathetic? Was he that out of practice for sounding intimidating?_

 _Whatever it was, the septon stepped closer to Sandor and lifted up the blanket to reveal the wound on his thigh. Sandor tried to reach out and pull the blanket down, not wanting his naked, vulnerable self to be seen by this man he didn't know. The septon chuckled to himself and muttered about making sure they changed the bandages soon. Then he sat down in the chair Sandor found him snoring in that one night._

 _The septon introduced himself as Brother Ray and smiled patiently at Sandor when he refused to tell the man anything. Ray was infuriatingly kind and irritatingly tolerant. He sat with Sandor for a long time, smiling at him with his big, white teeth, and talking at him about his traveling commune, building septs across the Riverlands._

 _Sandor let him talk, not because he wanted to hear from this Brother Ray, but because he knew he was in no shape to make good on any threats. So he lay against that table and ground his teeth as the septon chuckled at himself and spoke on and on._

 _At one point, a bell rang from outside of the tent and Sandor could hear the faint sound of people talking and moving outside of the tent. Brother Ray slapped his thighs and stood up._

 _"Food's ready," he grinned down at Sandor. "What say I get us a bowl, eh?"_

 _But before Sandor could ignore him, a small figure backed her way into the tent. She was a tiny little thing in a gray dress, her dark hair messily braided down her back. Sandor felt his breath catch for a moment. Was it her? Was it_ really _her?_

 _"Ah, Shar," Brother Ray clapped his leathery hands together and stepped towards the woman as she turned around._

 _"I brought you a bowl of stew," she said in a whispery voice. "And another one, in case—"_

 _The woman stared straight at Sandor and stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was still hanging open. She almost dropped both bowls of stew in her hands, but turned back to look at Brother Ray. She thrust them in his hands before picking up her skirts and dashing out of the tent._

 _"Who the fuck was that?" Sandor croaked out, as he was unable to get a decent look at her._

 _"_ Now _yeh're interested in talking," Brother Ray smirked._

 _And that was the last time Sandor spoke that day._

* * *

 _Her name was Shar, Sandor soon found out. She was a member of Brother Ray's commune and she had helped the septon revive Sandor after he was left for dead. She often entered the tent when he was sleeping, or when she_ thought _he was sleeping. Brother Ray was quite amused to find out Shar was frightened of Sandor, and he seemed to enjoy telling Sandor this. "_ Nearly pissed herself when she saw you, didn't she? _" he'd hooted in the tent._

 _Sandor didn't find it nearly as funny. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he didn't want to frighten the girl. Was it his near-death experience giving him a new perspective on life? Or was it because she reminded him of the songbird?_

 _She looked just like Fallon, Sandor thought at first. That was when all he saw of her was her body leaving the tent, or stolen glances through squinting eyes when she came inside to check his wounds. Sometimes he even felt her small hand holding onto his deep into the night. That was when he started noticing the differences between the two. Her fingertips were much softer than Fallon's. Shar hadn't spent most of her life plucking lute strings._

 _He finally saw her full-on one night when he decided not to pretend he was sleeping. He had heard her creep into the tent, her tiny footsteps crushing the grass beneath her. He felt her presence as she came closer. She stood at his side and tentatively grabbed his hand in one of hers. That was when his eyes opened and he stared up at her._

 _She had been staring back at him. She gasped when she saw he was awake and she tried to let go and jump back, but he held fast to her hand. Sandor still felt weak, but not weak enough to hold onto her. She furrowed her brow and gazed at him apprehensively._

 _In the dim light of the tent, Sandor took her appearance in. Shar's skin was pale, but her cheeks were rosy. Her hair was darker than Fallon's, coarser too. It hung over her shoulders, almost down to her elbows. Her eyes were blue and catlike, where Fallon's were much rounder and a shade somewhere between gray and green. Her nose was long and crooked in the middle of her face and her lips were a darker shade of pink than Fallon's were. She was a few inches shorter, but just as many years older than the songbird, and her body seemed to be rail thin, where Fallon's had a bit more curvature to it._

 _"Please, Ser," Shar whispered._

 _"I'm no Ser," Sandor grumbled before finally letting go of the woman._

 _"Forgive me," she bowed her head nervously, but didn't run off this time. "I didn't mean to disturb you."_

 _Instead of responding, Sandor sat up on his elbows. He continued to look at Shar, but she refused to meet his eyes. She certainly wasn't Fallon, he decided._

 _"B-Brother Ray sent me to check on you," she said in her light voice. "Sh-Shall I tell him you're awake?"_

 _Sandor shook his head and laid back down. He closed his eyes and tried to fall back asleep. He breathed deeply and steadily, and just before he nodded off, he felt Shar's hand grasp his once more._

* * *

 _By the time Sandor had regained his strength, he had gotten quite used to Shar, as well as Brother Ray. They were the only people who interacted with him in the commune. The other men and women cowered away from Sandor. He heard them whisper about him when they thought he was out of earshot._

 _"_ They call him the Hound _."_

 _"_ He was Joffrey's guard dog _."_

 _"_ His brother's the Mountain That Rides _."_

 _But he didn't let that bother him. It was like he was back in King's Landing again, long before he had ever met Fallon. The revulsion, the fear, it was all the same to him. All that was different was his bum leg and him not being weighed down by his armor and his big fucking swords._

 _He ignored them muttering their tales of the vicious Clegane brothers and set about earning his keep in the commune. When he was strong enough to, he helped fell trees, carry logs, and chop wood. He even attended Brother Ray's sermons. He usually sat in the back, initially facing away so that if anyone asked, he could say he was resting his leg. But as much as he didn't want to admit it, he listened. And he learned._

 _Shar always found her way to Sandor's side. It was one of the ways she reminded him of the songbird. Though she was much quieter than Fallon, Shar found her own way to make Sandor feel like he was a human being who deserved compassion._

 _He had recovered enough to leave that tent. She didn't have to change his bandages anymore, she didn't have to sit by his side when Brother Ray could not, she didn't have to hold his hand as he made his slow and steady recovery. As soon as she had arranged for that seamstress to make his clothes, she should have been done with him. But Shar continued to look after him. She made sure he ate. She even ate with him, sitting on a rock nearby him._

 _And when they finished their sept, packed up their belongings, and traveled on to build a new one, Shar walked beside him, matching her gait to his slow limp. When he needed to ride on the wagon, she sat beside him._

 _She barely spoke, but he didn't mind. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he truly didn't want to be alone in this world anymore. Fallon had left an enormous hole when those brigands dragged her into the woods and left her to be ripped apart by wolves. He knew nothing could ever fill it, nothing but her, but he was willing to let this Shar stay close._

 _One evening, Sandor supped by himself at their new location. He sat on the rock he had claimed when they first arrived there. It was where he always ate. It was where he and Ray'd had a long conversation about gods and punishment and Sandor's purpose in this life. Sandor liked to eat there because it was just far enough away from the other followers of Brother Ray. He was able to turn his back to them while still being a part of them._

 _"There he is, our mighty warrior."_

 _Sandor glanced over his shoulder and saw Ray coming up beside him. He clapped Sandor's back and plopped down on a nearby rock. Sandor turned from the hunk of bread he had been ripping apart and stared at the septon._

 _"What?" Brother Ray made a show of sniffing under his arms. "Oh, were you saving this seat for someone?"_

 _Sandor ignored his knowing smirk and dipped a piece of his bread into the dregs of his stew._

 _"She's handing out seconds," Ray cocked his head behind Sandor towards where Shar undoubtedly was. "Big man like you needs to eat as much as he can, I imagine."_

 _Sandor still ignored him. He didn't hate Brother Ray. He actually respected him, this man who had told him the gods had plans for him, this man who had told him the gods had in fact punished him for all that he had done. But he didn't want Brother Ray to know that. Having loved ones made people weak. Sandor had learned that the hard way with Fallon. She had been one of his only weaknesses, after all._

 _Fire and Fallon._

 _"She talks about you," Ray continued. "Hardly makes a peep when yeh're around, I know. But she talks about you to me. She wants to know about you. Where yeh come from, what made you the way yeh are. But she's too afraid of upsettin' you to ask."_

 _Sandor looked at Ray's leathery face. His eyes were light, but sharp, and they seemed to pierce right through Sandor._

 _"I think she's taken a liking to you," Ray leaned over and nudged Sandor's arm with his elbow._

 _Sandor glared at him. He respected Brother Ray, but that didn't necessarily mean he wanted the man touching him all the time._

 _"What? Is she not pretty enough for_ Sandor Clegane _?" Ray chortled. "So she broke her nose when she was a child—she's still prettier than some o' the girls in the Riverlands. You ever seen any of Walder Frey's daughters?" Ray feigned a shiver and wheezed out another laugh. "Come on, son, tell me. She_ likes _you. What's stoppin' yeh?"_

 _Sandor placed his bowl on the ground by his outstretched bum leg. He heaved a great sigh and pulled out the battered swatch of fabric from the leather brace around his right wrist. It was stained with Sandor's own blood and torn in some places._

 _"You wouldn't let go of that," Brother Ray mused, staring at the fabric. "Had that in yer hand when I put yeh on m'wagon. Tried to pry it from yer grip when I was healing yeh, but you_ would not _let go."_

 _Sandor tried to swallow the knot in his throat and stuffed the swatch back into the brace._

 _"That wasn't a keepsake from the woman who tried to cut you down, I take it," Ray smiled bitterly at Sandor. The septon had gotten a hearty laugh out of Sandor admitting he was almost killed by Brienne of fucking Tarth. But now he looked knowingly at the broken man. "She must have meant a great deal to you, whoever's skirt that was from."_

 _"She did," Sandor finally replied._

 _Brother Ray was quiet for a moment. He looked back over his shoulder and offered a smile to someone. Sandor didn't check to see who. He had a feeling it was to Shar._

 _"She dead?" Ray finally asked, jerking his head towards Sandor's brace._

 _Sandor nodded, having finally accepted that Fallon was dead and gone and it was all because of his own pride. She was taken from him. And it was his fault. He wasn't able to protect her and she was long dead._

 _"Then what's the harm of it? Winter's on its way, son," Ray stood up and clapped Sandor's back once more. "You could find much worse to keep yeh warm in yer bed."_

 _Sandor turned his head and watched as the septon walked away. Ray didn't understand. He didn't know what Fallon had meant to Sandor. He didn't know that absolutely nothing would compare to that beautiful, scarred,_ strong _woman who loved him despite all of the horrible things he had done._

 _Sandor picked up his bowl and stood up gingerly, his leg still giving him pain. He started to limp away from the rock where he'd sat but was stopped not far away from it. Shar had advanced toward him, carrying a large bucket and a ladle._

 _"Pardon," she bowed her head and lifted the bucket. "Would you like some more?"_

 _He nodded slowly. She wasn't afraid around him, she hadn't been for some time. He was thankful the day she stopped stammering around him for good._

 _Shar offered him a tiny smile and filled his bowl back up. "Is it good? Shyla says it's the best she's done."_

 _"It's good," Sandor nodded, turning back to go and sit where he had been._

 _"Wait," Shar piped up, her voice louder than its normal whispery tone, as if she was mustering up more courage than she'd ever had before._

 _Sandor pivoted back around on his good leg. He stared down at Shar's reddening face and was once again reminded of the songbird he used to hold in his arms._

 _"When I first saw you," she began, "when I first_ really _saw you…you looked so vulnerable on that table._

 _"I had heard from the others that you…that you were some terrifying beast._ The Hound _. I had to see you for myself. So I snuck in and watched you as you slept. You weren't a beast. You weren't a hound either. You were just a man._

 _"Then…that night…the night you saw me too. You opened your eyes and at first I saw anger. But then you looked at me…and I saw_ love _."_

 _Sandor felt the knot in his throat grow larger. That was the night he thought she was Fallon's ghost. But she didn't know that. How would she have known that?_

 _"What I'm trying to ask is…would…?" she continued, looking down at the bucket in her grasp. "Would you be opposed to…?"_

 _"Spit it out," Sandor grunted._

 _"Sorry," her face became even more red than before. She began stammering again and Sandor felt a pit in his stomach. "I-I only wanted to t-tell you… I kn-know it can get lonely h-here, in the commune. I-If…you ever get lonely…th-there's r-room in my…my tent."_

 _Sandor's ears perked up. Ray hadn't been wrong in his thinking. Shar had certainly taken a liking to him. He was shocked. He had been surprised enough to know that Fallon had found it in her to love someone like him, but to think that another woman could as well…_

 _"F-Forgive me," she shook her head when he didn't respond. Her face was getting darker by the second. Then she turned away from him to scurry off._

 _Sandor spent a lot of time awake in his tent that night. He knew Shar was in the next tent over. He could hear her tossing and turning on her bedroll. She had stepped out of her comfort zone to proposition him and he knew that. He sat up and stared at the flaps of his tent. The voice of Brother Ray floated through his head._

 _"_ She dead? Then what's the harm of it? _"_

 _She wasn't Fallon. She wasn't the woman he loved more than he ever knew he was capable of loving. But it had been such a long time since he'd felt the arms of a woman around him, since he'd felt loved by another. Sandor sighed and he made his decision._


	44. Bunch of Nances

_**"I was a** soldier…once," Ray said. "All my superiors thought I was brave. I wasn't. I mean, I never _ ran _from a fight. Only because I was afraid my friends would see I was afraid. That's all I was, a coward."_

 _Sandor Clegane stood in the back as Ray led the sermon. They were down the way from the skeletal sept they had been building, most sitting in a circle around the portly septon._

 _"We followed orders. No matter the orders. Burn that village? Fine," Ray jerked his thumb towards himself. "I'm your arsonist. Steal that farmer's crops?" he pointed out to the side. "Good, I'm your thief. Kill those young lads so they won't take up arms against us? I'm your murderer."_

 _Sandor felt a pang in his chest as he listened to Ray's words. Was Sandor a coward? No. But he had done these sorts of things. And he had enjoyed them._

 _"I remember once, a woman_ screaming _at us, calling us animals as we dragged her son from their hut," Ray turned around and stared pointedly at Sandor. He was letting him know that this sermon was just for him, as if Sandor hadn't been able to piece that together already. "But we weren't animals," Ray continued, looking away from Sandor. "Animals are true to their nature. And we had betrayed ours."_

 _Sandor could feel another pair of eyes on him from directly across the circle. A blue pair, catlike in appearance. He didn't look at Shar. He couldn't. He only stared at Brother Ray._

 _"I cut that young boy's throat myself," the septon choked out, his voice full of regret, "as his mother screamed and my friends held her back."_

 _Sandor felt another pang. He thought back to the butcher's boy, who had begged mercy from him. Sandor forced himself to believe that he_ had _been merciful when he rode him down, saving him from the queen's perverted form of justice._

 _"That night," Ray sat down on a stump beside a longhaired man in the commune, briefly resting his elbow on the other's shoulder, "I felt such shame. Shame was so heavy on me, I couldn't_ eat _, I couldn't_ sleep _…"_

 _Sandor looked down, remembering when he had encountered the songbird outside of that inn after he had brought the boy's body to lay before the queen. He had thought Fallon was finally scared of him, just as everyone seemed to be. But she was angry with him. That was the first time he tried to teach her the nature of this world. If only she had listened to him…_

 _"All I could do was stare into that dark sky and listen to that mother screaming her son's name," Ray said, staring at Sandor once more with his piercing eyes. The older man's chest heaved several times as he relived his guilt amongst his followers. "I'll hear her screaming the rest of my life."_

 _There was no sound but the wind and the birds chirping. Not until Ray stood up again._

 _"Now, I know I can never bring that lad back. All I can do with th'time I've got left is bring a little goodness into the world," he said, looking around at the people circling him. "That's all any of us can do, innit? Never too late to stop robbing people…"_

 _Sandor bowed his head as he thought about the farmer and his daughter._

 _"…to stop killing people, and start_ helping _people," Ray looked straight at him again. "It's never too late to come back."_

 _Sandor felt Shar's eyes on him once again. But again, he couldn't look at her. He only looked at Ray, the man who understood who he truly was more than anyone else. He didn't break eye contact, not even as the wind blew a wisp of his hair across his forehead._

 _Then he heard the whinnying of horses._

 _He looked past Shar, who was still trying to get his attention. He saw three men on horses rounding a curved pathway as they galloped closer. Something about them made Sandor feel uncomfortable. He wished he had his axe with him._

 _Ray seemed to notice the look on Sandor's face and turned to look at the horsemen approaching. Sandor found himself stepping closer, his limp not as bad as it once was. He hoped that if anything happened, he'd be able to protect his new people._

 _"…And it's not about waiting for the gods to answer yer prayers," Brother Ray continued. "It's not even about the gods," he turned from the horsemen and pointed his finger at his followers. "It's about you. Learning you have to answer yer prayers yerself."_

 _The horsemen were slowing to a stop when the rest of the followers stood up to receive them. Sandor was tall enough to see above everyone's heads. The horseman in the middle was a pig-faced cunt in a yellow cloak. To his left was a thickset bald man, to his right, a man with curly blonde hair._

 _"Seven save yeh, friends," Ray said cheerily as he came closer to them, despite the three men glaring down at him. "How can we help you?"_

 _Sandor followed the group towards the horsemen, the uncomfortable feeling growing inside of him. No matter what Ray said, these men were_ not _friends._

 _"What are you doing here?" the yellow-cloaked man said._

 _"Well, we're talking about_ life _," Ray replied. "You?"_

 _"Protecting the people."_

 _"Well, we thank you for yer protection."_

 _Sandor watched as the curly-haired man and the bald one scoped out their surroundings. He knew what they were doing. And Brother Ray was foolish to think his kind words would stop these men from what they were planning._

 _"Who are you protecting us from?" Ray asked._

 _The bald man made Sandor feel the most uncomfortable out of all of them as he sneered down at the men and women and children from his brown horse._

 _The man in the yellow cloak chuckled to himself instead of answering and glanced around for a moment. "D'yeh have any horses?" he asked._

 _"No horses," Ray shook his head. "No gold, no steel."_

 _"Food, then?" the man in yellow asked as Sandor stepped closer. "Protecting the people is hungry work."_

 _"I'm sure it is," Ray nodded. "Yeh're welcome to stay for supper, but we have hungry mouths here."_

 _The man in yellow stared at the septon for a brief time, then faked a smile down at him from behind his beard. "Stay safe," he whispered threateningly. "The night is dark and full of terrors."_

 _Then the three brothers turned away and rode away on the path from whence they came._

* * *

 _Sandor had gone far into the forest that night, chopping more and more wood. He had told Ray it was preparation for the cold night ahead, but that wasn't his only reason. It was also the way he hoped to relieve his stress. The more he chopped, the less irritated he felt, or so he told himself._

 _He was irritated by Shar, by himself, by the brothers' threats, but he was mostly irritated by Brother Ray's pacifism. Sandor had tried to warn him about the men on horses. They were men from the Brotherhood Without Banners and they were up to no good. They wanted food and steel and women. Sandor knew that he and Ray were the only two who would be able to put up a fight. But Ray refused._

 _"_ Violence is a disease. Yeh don't cure a disease by spreading it to more people _," the septon had told him._

 _"_ Yeh don't cure it by _dying_ , either _," Sandor had replied._

 _So Sandor kept chopping well up into the hills within the forest. He chopped until the sun began to set over his sweating body. He dropped his axe and heaved a great sigh before pulling out his skin of water. He wasn't sure if the sigh was from all of his hard work or from the lack of wine touching his lips._

 _Then he heard the screams. He turned his head in the direction of the sept and hoped that perhaps it was just a bird's call. But the screaming continued. It was the screams of men, women, and children._

 _Sandor went as fast as his bum leg would allow him to. He hobbled down the hillside, using trees and bushes to keep him steady on his feet. But by the time he made it down to the sept, the attackers had gone. They had turned the sept into a graveyard. The bodies of the people Sandor had been living amongst for so long lay motionless on the ground, blood staining their clothes, arrows sticking out of some of their bodies._

 _He limped around the corpses and the vats of food that had tumbled over. He stopped for a moment when he saw Shar laying on her back, a bloody hole in the middle of her chest, her hands up by the sides of her head as if she had died trying to shield herself from the assailants. He gulped and passed her body, not wanting to feel her blue eyes on him anymore._

 _Sandor found himself horrified at the scene, and it took quite a lot to do that. His breath became more and more ragged as he stumbled through the gory scene, careful not to step on anyone. As terrified as they may have been of him, these were his people. These were his men and woman laying over their slain sons and daughters. These were his brothers and sisters slaughtered on the holy ground they created._

 _What horrified Sandor the most was what he found hanging inside the skeletal sept, blocking the setting sun. He hobbled closer and stared up at the dangling body of Brother Ray._

 _Ray had strayed true to his word and refused to fight the brothers who attacked his followers. He had died the man he wanted to live the rest of his life as. Sandor wouldn't do the same, however. He had learned much from Brother Ray in his time. He had grown as a person. He had become a better man. He was no longer the Hound. He was the Sandor Clegane that Fallon had always seen him as._

 _But he would not let this go._

 _Sandor would get revenge on the men who did this. He turned away from the creaking rope and limped towards the first thing he saw remotely resembling a weapon. He pulled the axe out of the nearby stump and he set off._

* * *

 _Sandor was still trudging through the forest, adrenaline pumping in his veins after killing those fucking idiots at their fire. He had recognized two of the men—the one with the curly hair and the bald one. The other two he wasn't entirely sure were even involved in the slaughter, but he didn't care. They were young and they looked green, but they were sitting with the two horsemen. He didn't give a fuck if they were innocent or not._

 _The one with the close-cropped beard seemed surprised when he saw Sandor approaching, just before Sandor took his head off with one clean swing. The one with the floppy hair and the mole didn't even bother to fight back. He looked like he had just pissed himself when Sandor drove his axe into the lad's chest._

 _But the curly-haired one, Sandor knew was guilty. He'd happily slit that one's throat with his axe. And the bald one, Sandor was_ very _happy to wedge his axe into that one's bollocks and make him suffer a bit more. "_ Cunt! _" his last word was. He was shit at dying and Sandor told him so._

 _The sky was gray above the trees, but Sandor didn't care to make camp again any time soon. All he cared about was revenge. He wanted the axe that he was gripping so tightly to drip again. He wanted the next person to cross him to see the trail of blood behind him._

 _He suddenly heard the sound of men's voices and horses neighing. His head snapped to the side in the direction of the noise, just down a different fork in his path. They could be involved, he thought as he readjusted his sleeve on his shoulder, promptly walking towards the sound._

 _He slowed himself down, his limp now more pronounced, as he came upon the men and horses. Then he stopped completely to take it all in. There was a band of men standing under a tree, preparing to hang the three men on small logs with nooses around their necks, while another man sat on the branch, having just attached the ropes. Only the prisoner in the middle, the pig-faced cunt in the yellow cloak, looked familiar to Sandor._

 _And Sandor looked familiar to him._

 _The one with the yellow cloak gazed up from his boots to stare at Sandor. His brow furrowed at the sight of him. One of the men about to hang him turned to see what he was looking at and Sandor realized he knew a least one more person under this tree._

 _Beric Dondarrion was the first of the Brotherhood to lay eyes—or_ eye _—on him. One of Beric's men unsheathed a sword, as if he had a chance against Sandor, even with a bum leg. Another man held his double-sided axe up and their archer held fast to his bow. Sandor noticed that this archer wasn't the same bearded nance who tried to accuse him of his brother's crimes. This was a different nance, one with very long, dark hair._

 _"Clegane," called out Thoros of Myr, stepping forward with a cocky smile hiding within his bushy beard. "The fuck you doing here?"_

 _Sandor didn't have the time or patience to ruminate on anything the priest said or did. He didn't care that Thoros had used Sandor's own line against him—the very same thing Sandor had said when those brothers took him hostage after he lost Fallon._

 _"Chasing them," Sandor responded. "You?"_

 _"Hanging them," Thoros said in a playful voice._

 _"Any particular reason?"_

 _"They're our men," Beric told him. "Or, they_ were _. They attacked a nearby sept and murdered the villagers. Why do_ you _want them?"_

 _"Same reason. I was helping build it," Sandor gestured to himself with his free hand. "They killed a friend of mine."_

 _"You've got friends?" Thoros asked with a knowing look on his face that only served to irritate Sandor further._

 _"Not anymore," he replied._

 _"I wouldn't be so sure," Thoros mumbled and looked over his shoulder, but Sandor was too impatient to wonder what he meant by that._

 _"They're_ mine _," Sandor hissed. He marched forward, anger boiling his blood. His grip tightened even more on the axe. He couldn't wait to plunge it into these men's hearts._

 _"It's the Brotherhood's good name they've dragged through the dirt," Beric said as he and some of his other men stepped to the side to block Sandor's passage._

 _"_ Fuck _your name, they're_ mine _," Sandor growled, stopping before the one-eyed lord. "Killed you once before, Dondarrion. Happy to do it again."_

 _Out of the corner of his eye, Sandor could see that the archer had raised his bow and was planning on shooting at him if he dared attack Beric._

 _"Drop that bloody arrow, yeh girl," Sandor ordered, not even looking at the archer. He addressed him only by pointing with his axe as he remembered the wolf bitch and Brienne of fucking Tarth. "Tougher girls than_ you _have tried to kill me." When the archer didn't move, Sandor put his axe down and turned to approach him._

 _"You can have one of them," Dondarrion stopped Sandor in his tracks._

 _He gave the archer one last dirty look before turning to glance at the lord and then the men on logs. "Two," Sandor haggled._

 _Beric looked over at Thoros, who subtly nodded his balding head. Then he turned back to Sandor and nodded more definitively._

 _Sandor decided not to push his luck and ask for all three, so he stepped past Beric and looked straight into the pig face of the man in the yellow cloak. Without a word, Sandor lifted his axe high in the air. His intended victim cried out in terror, closing his eyes and turning his head to the side._

 _"Nooo, no-no-no-no," Thoros grabbed onto the axe from behind and prevented the blow._

 _Sandor fought against the priest's strong grasp, turning around to try and tug it out of his gloved hands. Sandor glowered at him, nonverbally demanding answers for why his vengeance had been interrupted._

 _"We're not butchers," Thoros said, lowering the axe before letting go of it. "We hang them."_

 _"_ Hanging _?" Sandor echoed incredulously as the man in the yellow cloak opened his eyes in confusion. "All over in an instant," he turned back to look at the soon-to-be executed men. "Where's the punishment in_ that _?"_

 _"They die," Thoros told him plainly._

 _"We_ all _bloody die," Sandor grumbled, then jerked his head over his shoulder at Beric. "Except this one here." Sandor heaved a great sigh and gestured to the one in yellow with his axe. "I'll only gut_ one _of them."_

 _"No," Beric said, causing Sandor to turn once again and glare at him._

 _"Chop off_ one _hand," he bargained._

 _"We gave you_ two _of the_ three _out of respect for your loss," Beric reminded him. "That's generous."_

 _Sandor stared at Beric, but finally resigned himself to throw his axe on the ground. "Bunch of nances." he muttered as he did so. "There was a time I would've killed all seven of yeh just to_ gut _these three."_

 _"You're getting old, Clegane," Thoros drawled._

 _"_ He's _not," Sandor quipped as he kicked the log out from under the prisoner on the left with his good leg. The man grunted and then started to wriggle, but Sandor had already moved on to the yellow-cloaked one._

 _"Please don't," he begged. "I'll give you any_ thi _—"_

 _Sandor kicked the log under him and watched as he danced, dangling from the rope. The man made awful noises as he choked, but Sandor's only qualm was that his death wasn't painful enough. Beside him, Beric kicked the log under the third prisoner._

 _Before the one in the yellow had finished his dance, Sandor grabbed his cloak and pulled it to the side, getting a nice look at the man's boots. They were much better than the shit the commune's shoemaker had mustered up for Sandor, so he bent forward and ripped one of them off the man's foot. Sandor got down on one knee and pulled his trouser leg up so he could remove his own boot and compare the sole of the new one with the sole of Sandor's dirty foot._

 _As luck would have it, the man in the yellow cloak's feet were of a similar size. Sandor thrust the boot onto his foot and stared up at the brothers, his stomach starting to rumble. They were all looking at him with disgust, but no one said a word._

 _"Got anything to eat?" he asked._

 _"Aye," Beric nodded as Sandor went to grab the other boot. "You can come to our camp with us."_

 _Sandor finally stood up after grabbing the axe in case he'd need it. He stepped closer to Beric and Thoros, who had both exchanged glances when they thought he wasn't looking._

 _"Come along, Clegane," Thoros smirked, clapping Sandor's arm. "I know someone who's going to be_ very _happy to see you…"_

 _Sandor followed the brothers through the brush until they approached the men's new camp. No caves, no waterfalls this time. Only tents and firepits and horses along the riverside. Men mulled around together, walking across the campsite or sitting and sharpening their swords. They laughed and belched and skinned their rabbits. But then Sandor heard a loud rustling noise in the fallen leaves on the ground, overlapped by the giggling of a young child._

 _"Artemys! Come back here!"_

 _Sandor stopped walking immediately, but Beric and most of the others continued on their way. He felt like he had been drenched in ice water at the sound of the young woman's voice._ No _, he told himself._ It can't be…she's dead _._

 _A small girl, no older than two, ran out from behind a small group of brothers. She was clad in a dark brown dress that seemed to be handmade and her thin chestnut hair was only long enough to touch her shoulders._

 _"Dada back!" the girl squealed, running towards the returning party._

 _But whoever she had been running for, she stopped before she reached them. The girl had caught sight of Sandor with her big brown eyes and she immediately stopped, almost tripping over her tiny feet. She stared straight up at Sandor. She didn't seem afraid, necessarily, but her eyes were wide and her mouth was in a tight line._

 _The only one of the party who had stopped along with him, Thoros smirked at Sandor. The taller man couldn't take his eyes off the little girl, though, just as the little girl couldn't take her eyes off him._

 _"Artemys!" the young woman's voice called out again. The body the voice belonged to dashed out from where the girl had come from. She was a whirl of brown hair and dark blue skirts as she hurtled towards the little one. "You can't keep running away from me like that!" the woman admonished, crouching down and grabbing the girl's arms. "What's the matter?" she asked when she saw the girl's face. Then the woman followed the girl's eyeline and her mouth began to hang open._

 _Sandor stumbled back a step when he finally saw her head-on. His own mouth dried when she let go of the girl and slowly rose to her feet. The top of her hair was tied behind her head while the rest flowed past her elbows. Her eyes were round and gray-green and her nose was centered and unbroken. She stared back at him, her pink lips quivering._

 _Thoros clapped Sandor's arm once again and started walking forward. "There's my little darling," he said playfully, bending down to grab the little girl and seat her on his hip._

 _"Dada," the girl threw her arms around his neck, finally breaking her stare. She beamed at the red priest carrying her, seeming to forget that Sandor even existed._

 _As he walked on, Thoros nudged the woman from behind and made her stumble forward. With every painstakingly slow step closer to him, Sandor could see the tears in her eyes. He wondered if she could hear his pounding heart as he limped towards her._

 _"Are you real?" Fallon breathed, her hands shaking as they reached out to him. Her tears began to stream down her cheeks, dripping onto her dark blue dress._

 _Sandor didn't answer. He didn't know what to say. He could see her hands coming closer as the space between them lessened, but he was afraid to touch her. He was afraid she would disappear into a wisp of smoke—a cruel joke from the gods to punish him more than they already had._

 _But she didn't disappear when her trembling hands found his. She was soft and warm and there. After all of this time, after all of these years, she was_ alive _._

 _"I always knew you'd come back to me," she choked out, a tearful smile carved into her crumpling face._

 _She was_ alive _, Sandor reminded himself. He let go of her so he could wrap one of his arms around her shoulders and put his hand on the back of her head. He pulled her body close and he felt her hold him back tightly. She was shaking and sobbing and her tears were making his shirt wet, but she was in his arms for the first time in what felt like forever._

 _Her body was small against his, but it seemed to fit perfectly. The void inside of him, the hole she left, was filling in again. He dug his fingers into her back, not caring that the men from the Brotherhood were staring at them. He only cared that his little songbird was back in his life._

 _"Rabbit's getting cold, Clegane," Thoros called out from where he stood with the little girl clinging onto him. "Fallon will still be here after you eat."_

 _Sandor wondered if he would have killed the priest had his stomach not rumbled loudly. He'd packed his bag with whatever he could salvage from Brother Ray's commune, but the few rolls of bread and potatoes hadn't been nearly enough to sustain him._

 _"Come, my love," Fallon reluctantly let go of him and wiped at her tears. She then grabbed one of his arms and started leading him towards Thoros. "We can talk later."_

* * *

 **SORRY THIS IS MOSTLY SHOW STUFF AND SORRY I LEFT WHAT MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE HAPPENED AFTER THE LAST CHAPTER SUPER MURKY (all in good time, my dudes, all in good time), but hopefully the reunion will make up for it and you won't hate me (please)!**

 **But seriously, GUYS I AM SO HAPPY TO GET TO WRITE THE REUNION AFTER ALL THIS TIME. Their separation has hurt me more than it's hurt you, hahaha**


	45. All Better

**"Thought you were** dead."

"I had a feeling you might have."

"How did you survive?"

I grinned in spite of myself. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Sandor gave me a look.

"Before they could… _hurt_ me…the men who took me into the woods that night decided I was far more trouble than I was worth," I said delicately. "And so they left me tied up for the wolves to feast on. Fortunately for me, I've spent the better part of my life with _wolves_. _Wolves_ seem to like me…"

"You were saved by _wolves_?" Sandor asked in a playfully mocking tone.

"This is why I was afraid to tell you," I snickered at myself. "Believe it or not, I was rescued by the very same direwolf that _savaged_ Joffrey on the Kingsroad."

The playfulness in Sandor seemed to turn into contemplation, as if my story struck a chord with him in some way. He almost looked like he actually did believe me.

"So…after all this time, _you_ thought _I_ was dead and I thought the same of you," I added, stroking his bare chest. "I'm glad we were both wrong."

Sandor traced the faded scars on my back absentmindedly with his right hand. He sighed and glanced to his right. From where I rested my head on his shoulder, I could see a slight discoloration on his neck, visible by the glow of the fire from outside of the tent.

"I don't believe this was from me, was it?" I asked, reaching up my hand and lightly circling the mark with my index finger.

Sandor whipped his head back and stared down at me. "Some brainless, sharp-toothed hog in a village. Bit me when I wasn't paying attention." He sighed again and grabbed a lock of my hair with his left hand. He tugged on it as gently as he could, the corner of his lips twitching. "Yer little wolf girl sewed me up."

"Did she?" I cocked an eyebrow and grinned. "Septa Mordane must be smiling from the seventh heaven…"

I took Sandor's cheek in my hand and pulled his face closer to my own. Even after all we had done this night in order to make up for lost time, kissing Sandor still felt like the first time since before our separation. There was an urgency against my lips, as if he was afraid I would be taken away from him at any moment. When we broke away, I was sure he pushed his forehead into mine to make sure I was still there.

"I know you're not much of a talker," I said once I caught my breath after the kiss, "but someday, I would love to hear more about your time with Arya."

Sandor kneaded his knuckles into the skin on my back. He stared up at the canvas, as if trying to see through the top of the tent.

"She wanted to kill me for so long…"

I gulped, remembering the vow Arya had made to me in King's Landing before I even knew I loved Sandor.

"…But she left me to die under the cliff that big bitch threw me off," he shook his head slightly.

"I remember the day the scouts returned," I chewed the inside of my bottom lip. "They told us a septon had been carting you around the Riverlands. They said you were covered in blood and bugs, and your armor was peeling off your body. Gods, I nearly threw _myself_ off a cliff when I heard. I think I would've, if not for my little girl… _Or_ Thoros."

Sandor's body went rigid against mine when I said that, but I carried on.

"Thoros stayed by my side, day and night," I explained. "He and Beric tried to comfort me. They reminded me that the Lord of Light kept you alive during your trial by combat—"

"I kept my-bloody- _self_ alive," Sandor grumbled.

"I know," I smiled to myself and placed a kiss on his collarbone. "They tried to tell me there was a chance you were still alive. Divine intervention and all that horseshit Beric loves to talk about. As much as I _wanted_ to believe them, I must admit I wasn't convinced you could've survived such a thing. Especially after hearing about that bone sticking out of your leg… But thankfully, I was wrong."

Sandor glanced away again. He was silent for a long time. I waited patiently for him to speak. It was clear to see that he was bothered by something, but I wouldn't press the issue. He could tell me when he was ready to.

Sandor cleared his throat. "The little one…?" he trailed off.

"Artemys," I filled in. "Forgive me for naming her without consulting you. I hope you didn't have anything else in mind for your first child."

There was a hitch in Sandor's breathing and his brow furrowed as he met my gaze again. "She's mine?"

"Of course. Who else's would she be?" I smiled up at him from his shoulder.

"Heard what she calls Thoros."

"Right," I heaved a sigh and raised my head to look into his eyes better. "Well, until quite recently, he was the closest thing she _had_ to a father," I told him. "It started in jest, us calling Thoros her _daddy_. But children listen more than most think they do. Things catch on…"

Sandor's mouth was pressed into a straight line. It was hard to tell in the dim light what exactly he was feeling in that moment, but I hoped to the gods that he wasn't upset with me.

"I was going to tell her about you," I assured him. "As soon as she was old enough to understand. I was going to tell her that her father was a hero—"

"I'm not a _hero_."

I leaned in and kissed him softly. "You are to me."

Sandor was silent again and I could tell there was something else on his mind, something else that was bothering him. One of his hands were digging into my hip—not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to know that he wasn't trying his best to be careful with me.

"Was there ever…" he began awkwardly. "Did yeh ever _find_ someone else?"

" _Find someone else_?" I echoed. "What, like another man?"

Sandor's throat bobbed and I knew exactly what he meant.

"Well, I vaguely remember being kissed in a dream once…" I smirked.

Sandor breathed sharply through his nose. It felt nice to get under his skin again. It reminded me of stolen moments inside the Red Keep; standing between his knees, sneaking glances at his muscular chest in the candlelight.

"No," I shook my head, answering him more seriously. "There's never been anyone else. Not even Thoros of Myr."

The man I was lying against relaxed a bit under me, finally taking a breath he had been holding in. His hand loosened on my hip and I felt his fingers massaging into my skin in an absentminded apology.

"He's naught but a friend," I continued. "Thoros has always looked out for me—ever since we met in King's Landing. In fact, if it weren't for _him_ , I may not have realized how I truly felt for you," I smirked again. "Or have you forgotten the candle that led me to your door?"

Sandor snickered a little. "Yeh'd been a pain in my arse long before that bald cunt ever put a damn candle in yer hand."

"You're far from the only person who considers me a pain in their arse," I grinned.

"Don't I know it?" he sighed.

"Doesn't mean I'm in love with the others," I pointed out. "Only _you_."

Sandor almost looked like he was about to smile. He cradled the back of my head in one of his hands and pulled me closer for another passionate kiss.

"I'm terrified to know," I whispered after we pulled away from each other, "but I won't sleep if I don't ask. Was there someone else for _you_?"

He didn't say anything, staring at my quivering lips instead. With every silent second, pressure grew on my chest. My mouth felt dry, but I still tried to swallow the lump in my throat.

"It's alright," I breathed as my eyes started to well. "You've spent so long thinking I was dead. You're a man. You have needs …"

"There was a woman in the commune," Sandor finally said.

He had previously given me a bare-bones explanation of his time with a septon named Ray—the same septon Gatins, Morgan, and Lem murdered before Sandor came back into my life—but he had never spoken of a woman. Not until now. My heart felt heavier and I found it hard to look in his eyes anymore. I peered down at his chest and tried to convince myself more that I was alright with it.

"She looked after me as well," he kept going. "She reminded me of you."

"Of course," I murmured to his chest hair and the pink scars underneath.

"Look at me."

I sucked in a large breath before obeying his rumbly command. I was afraid I would start crying before him. I was afraid he might think me weak and run back into the arms of the woman in the commune, even though I knew she was dead. Regardless, I looked at him and saw the imploring look in his brown eyes.

"She offered things to me," Sandor told me. "Said there was room in her tent."

" _Please_ ," I said in a voice I could hardly even hear myself. I wanted him to stop. I didn't want to hear anything more. I was angry with myself for asking him in the first place.

"I won't lie to you," he continued anyway. "Thought long and hard about it. You were dead and I was alone."

Sandor took a deep breath and covered my shaking hand on his chest with one of his own. I could feel his heart beating strong and steady under my palm.

"I didn't go in her tent," he told me.

"You didn't?" I gulped, the lump in my throat shrinking. "You truly didn't?"

He shook his head and pulled me closer into his body. "I couldn't."

* * *

I woke as soon as the sun shined through the canvas. I stretched out my sore body and sat up, Sandor's arm and the furs I'd stitched together sliding down onto my lap. The air was cold around me now that I wasn't pressed against his warmth anymore. He lay on his side with his eyes still closed, and his body rose and fell with every breath he took. I was glad he was still asleep, glad he could finally rest.

With a careful hand, I reached down and stroked his lank hair out of his face. His scar, while still jarring, seemed much different now. When I first saw it up close, the night of the feast at Winterfell, his wound was red and irritated. But after all this time, the redness seemed to have faded and the warped skin seemed much smoother now.

I lightly traced my fingertips along the scar and down to where his ear should have been. Most of it was missing and I wondered if the big woman who damn near killed him had anything to do with it.

"Girl."

I jumped and removed my hand from his face. I looked down and saw Sandor with his eyes still closed. His hand squeezed my thigh from where it sat over the furs on my lap. A warning sign, perhaps. _Still as grumpy in the morning as ever_ , I thought to myself.

"Forgive me," I whispered as he tried to fall back asleep.

I reached down and took his hand in both of mine. I had noticed the night before that his palms felt rougher against me than normal but had chosen to ignore it until now. I gently turned his hand over and stared down at the pale white raised scars. Two perfectly straight lines—one across his palm, the other along the bottom row of knuckles on his fingers. It looked as if he'd grabbed onto the blade of an incredibly sharp sword.

" _Girl_ ," Sandor grunted again when I ran my fingers over the scars.

"Still a pain in your arse, I see," I grinned down at him when he opened one of his eyes to glare at me.

He pulled his hand out of mine and wrapped his arm around my waist to pull me back down. I turned over on my side to face him and felt him draw me in closer.

"Forgive me," I repeated myself, trying and failing to stop smiling. "I've missed you."

Sandor's glare softened and his eyebrow twitched. I cupped his cheek in my hand and saw his eyes close once again. I leaned forward and kissed the tip of his nose.

"As much as I would love to continue this," I said. "I should go."

Sandor groaned in annoyance and rolled over onto his back, folding his hands on his stomach. I would have thought he'd try to go back to sleep, but he kept his eyes open. I could feel him watching me as I freed myself from the furs and knelt beside the pile of discarded clothing at the corner of the tent.

"I need to check on Artemys," I added as I stepped into my petticoat. "I can only imagine what sorts of shenanigans Thoros must have let her get into last night."

"You really trust that red cunt to watch over your little girl?" Sandor grumbled.

"I'd trust that _red cunt_ with my life," I replied playfully, tying my dark blue dress back together. I slipped my feet into my boots and knelt down once again to gather Sandor's clothes and toss them onto the furs where I had just been lying. "You'd do well to trust him yourself. It's _your_ little girl he's been watching over as well."

Sandor's chest heaved and he looked down at his hands. "She doesn't know me. She doesn't know she's mine. She thinks she's _his_."

"And she will until you meet her," I said, walking towards the flaps of the tent. "It's not too late to become her father."

I stepped outside and smoothed out the wrinkles on my dress. The brothers mulling around all smirked at me, some even chuckled out loud. My face started to burn as I wandered off, not making eye contact with another person until I found Thoros tossing my giggling daughter in the air. I stopped in my tracks and watched them for a moment.

"Again!"

"As you command."

Thoros threw her up into the air and caught Artemys by the waist, this time spinning her around in a circle before cradling her to his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed tightly. Thoros smiled and met my eyes as I came closer.

"Look who it is, darling," he said.

Artemys knotted her little fingers into the knitted surcoat that Thoros wore. She leaned back and beamed at me. "Mummy!" she squealed. She started to squirm and Thoros put her down on the ground. Artemys ran towards me and I crouched down with my arms out as wide as the smile on my face. But before I could scoop her up, she tripped on her skirts and tumbled onto the ground.

I straightened up quickly and darted forward as my daughter began to cry. She sat on her haunches and wailed loudly. I knelt down before her, Thoros coming to squat behind her as well.

"Hey, now," I murmured, cupping her cheeks with my hands. "Dry your tears, little one."

Artemys continued to cry as I gently lifted her skirts and found two scraped knees. There was no blood, but my daughter carried on as if her legs had been cut to the bone.

"There, there, love. I know it hurts," I cooed, leaning forward to kiss both of her knees. "All better now?"

Artemys looked at me with tears streaming down her cheeks. Her wails quieted as she nodded. I covered her legs back up with her skirts and heard the noises go silent. I glanced up and saw Thoros rising to his feet. Artemys herself was staring up, almost up to the sky. Her eyes were wide and her lips were in a tight line, just as she had been when Sandor had come to our camp with the hanging party.

"Clegane," Thoros said over our heads. "Glad to see you're awake."

I pulled Artemys into my arms and stood up. When I turned, I smiled at Sandor, who was standing not far behind me. He limped closer, his eyes not leaving Artemys's.

"Perhaps I'll give the happy family a moment alone," Thoros muttered in my ear. He whirled away before I could even thank him for watching Artemys the previous night.

"Are you cold, love?" I asked the little girl in my arms as she shivered against me.

Artemys finally averted her eyes from Sandor's and looked at me. She nodded silently and nestled into the curve of my neck. I smiled back at Sandor and watched his eyebrow twitch again.

"I'll find us a fire, then," I said as I turned away.

I could hear Sandor limping through the fallen leaves behind me as I ambled toward one of the firepits the brothers had set up when we first made camp here. The logs surrounding it were empty and the fire was dying, but I set Artemys down and grabbed a stick. Sandor approached and sat on a separate log from his own daughter, as if he was more afraid of the girl staring at him than the fire I was stoking.

When the flames were high enough to keep us warm, I turned and picked my daughter up, her wide eyes still on Sandor's. I set her on my hip until I sat down on Sandor's right side, when I put her on my lap. She held onto my hand with both of hers, gripping tightly. I wondered if she was afraid of him—his size, his scar, his grim facial expression. Whatever she was, she was brave enough to keep staring, even when he hung his head and fumbled with his fingers between his knees.

"Artemys, love," I started gently. "Do you know who this is?" I asked even though I knew she didn't.

My daughter shook her head.

"This is…" I gulped, knowing what I was about to say was going to change her little world forever. I wished Beric and I had never started calling Thoros her daddy, jest or not. "Artemys, love, this is your father."

She finally tore her eyes off of Sandor and looked at me. I smiled, feeling my eyes well up.

"We've been far away from each other for a very long time, but he's found his way back to us. And he would like to meet you very much," I continued.

Artemys turned her head back around, but she didn't look at Sandor. She laid her eyes on the distant Thoros, who was laughing merrily with a small group of brothers near the tents. A lump grew in my throat. I could feel Sandor giving me a sidelong glance, but I couldn't bear to return it. Artemys stared at Thoros for a moment, then finally turned back to me.

"Would you like to meet your father, Artemys?" I asked, terrified that she would say no.

But Artemys didn't answer. Not with words, anyway.

She gazed at Sandor next to us for an even longer time than she did Thoros. I watched Sandor heave a great sigh, finally meeting his daughter's eyes. My chest felt heavy as the two stared at each other for what felt like forever.

Then Artemys let go of my hand and leaned forward. She outstretched her arm and I felt myself stop breathing when she put her tiny hand on Sandor's scar. I grew more nervous than I thought I could as I waited for Sandor to react. He didn't push her hand away. He didn't jump back. He didn't swear at her. He just swallowed hard and kept his eyes on the little girl, allowing her to touch his face.

What happened next made the tears in my eyes stream down onto my cheeks.

Artemys took both of her hands and put them on Sandor's cheeks, tugging him closer by the thick beard he had grown in our time apart. Then she leaned further and just as I had done to her knees, she kissed the scar.

My lips quivered as I silently wept. Whether she had truly understood who Sandor was to her or not, Artemys had accepted him all the same. I looked at Sandor, and though he tried to hide it by turning his head away as soon as she let go of his beard, I saw his brown eyes glistening too.


	46. Kinslayer

**I sat on** a log with my back to the fire and began sorting the herbs in my basket. Beside me, facing the pit, was Thoros. He was silent, gazing into the flames, hoping to see something as they danced on the kindling.

"Will the fire tell you whatever happened to Steve and Riddell?" I playfully asked over my shoulder. "I've been so spoiled with their help these years, even after Artemys was born. Then you sent them to spy on the Freys and they haven't come back yet."

"They were good lads. Not the best we have to offer in the Brotherhood. It's likely they're dead," Thoros replied with hardly a shred of humor. He didn't even turn to look in my eyes, still focusing on the flames.

I gulped. "I hope they're not," I whispered more to myself than the priest beside me.

As I set to tying the herbs together, I looked ahead of me once more and felt my lips curl into a smile. I saw Sandor perched on a large rock across the way with Artemys crouching down in the space between his feet, her little back to him as he watched over her. She had a stick in her hand and she was trying to draw something in the dirt.

"They're getting on alright, it seems," I mused.

"Hmm?" Thoros replied.

"Artemys and Sandor," I explained. "I don't think she understands that he's her father, but…she knows there's something special about him."

"Special," Thoros echoed absentmindedly.

"He means something to her. I can tell," I continued, my smile almost hurting my cheeks.

Sandor looked up and glanced over the clearing towards me. Even through his thick beard I could see the ghost of a smile on his face. I beamed back at him, hoping I wouldn't burst into tears yet again.

He was learning to be a father, something I doubt he'd ever thought he'd become in his lifetime. I knew that he was unsure of himself, that he didn't believe he could be what Artemys needed, but _I_ believed in him. He had taken care of Sansa, he had taken care of Arya. He would be incredible with Artemys once he had more faith in himself.

"Need to speak with Beric," Thoros hummed before standing abruptly.

"Have you seen something in the flames?" I asked.

Thoros had seen cold winds rising in the north not long before Sandor had found his way to us. I wondered what else he might have seen this day. Whatever it was, it must have been important because Thoros walked off as if he hadn't heard my question.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and tied off my last bundle of wormwood before tossing it into the leather satchel where I stored my supplies. I slung the strap across my body and hooked my arm under the handle of the basket so I could carry it on my elbow. Then I stood up to cross the camp, feeling the satchel bounce against my hip with every step.

"Hello, loves," I smiled down at my daughter and Sandor.

Sandor nodded to me and slid the tiniest bit over to the right on his rock. I set the basket down beside the rock and put my satchel inside of it. I sat down beside him and put my hand on his left thigh. Sandor covered my hand with his and let me crane my neck to kiss his cheek.

"What are you making, Artemys?" I asked, glancing down at the earth she was carving into with her stick.

Much like Thoros, Artemys didn't answer me. Her tiny hand was gripping the stick so tightly her knuckles were white. All I could see before my daughter was fresh dirt and dark lines.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Sandor mumbled to me. "Been hacking away for some time now."

"Silent and hacking away at things?" I nestled my head against his shoulder and wrapped my other hand around his forearm. "And to think you ever doubted she was your daughter…"

Sandor laughed sharply through his nose. "There's plenty more _you_ in that girl than there is _me_."

"Oh?" I grinned.

"Insistent, impulsive, stares at me too long," Sandor said with a tinge of jest in his voice.

"How you suffer," I played along.

"Should've never gotten that bastard to return yer lute at Winterfell," Sandor shook his head. "Would've saved myself all this trouble if I hadn't made you think I was a good person."

"My apologies for recognizing you as a human being," I grinned. "I never meant to trouble you with all my love and affection. How selfish of me."

Sandor squeezed his hand over mine and leaned his head down to kiss the top of my head. He was quiet for a moment as we watched our daughter stand up and find a new spot further past his feet to dig into the ground.

"She looks like you," he said quietly, almost like he didn't want me to hear him.

"She has your eyes," I told him.

Sandor sighed beside me and looked up beyond the three of us. His eyes darted around the brothers before finding me against his shoulder once more.

"You were the only woman amongst all these men," he began when he felt Artemys was out of earshot. "None of them put a finger on you?"

I thought of Gatins and his threats. I thought of his high-pitched voice and his sharp knife, and I shivered in response. No had seen him or Morgan, not since Lem and the two others were hanged for attacking the sept.

"Some would have tried to," I admitted. "Thoros made it clear that I was not to be touched. As did Beric. As did Anguy."

"The archer?" Sandor furrowed her brow.

"I'm impressed you know his name."

"He wanted to execute me."

I gulped. "I'm sorry to hear that, my love."

"Held me responsible for my brother's deeds," Sandor sighed.

"You're not your brother," I said, slipping my hand out from under his to wrap my arms around his waist.

He sighed once more and then looked down at me. He cradled my temple in his large hand and leaned down to kiss the top of my head again. Then he snaked his arm around my shoulders and pulled me in closer.

We sat there for a moment, breathing along with each other. We watched our daughter stand up and hold the dirty end of her stick closer to her face. On the end was something small and pink, a worm she must have dug up. She pulled it off the stick and put it in her hand, squealing as the worm wriggled on her palm. Artemys met my eyes and matched the encouraging smile on my face before she crouched down once again and put the worm back in the upturned soil.

"Speaking of Anguy, did I tell you that I attempted to learn archery?" I grinned in spite of myself.

Sandor tore his eyes away from Artemys, who had returned to drawing in the dirt. He cocked his eyebrow at me, inviting me to go on.

"Anguy taught me the basics very early on in my days with the brothers," I explained. "I tried my hardest, I truly did. But it was a lost cause, believe me. I was complete and utter _shit_."

My comment made Sandor snicker louder than before, a clear smirk on his face.

I had gone from being the lowly daughter of a tavernkeeper in Flea Bottom to the trusted handmaiden of a Stark. I had been recruited as a court musician by the king of the Seven Kingdoms himself. I had even survived living amongst Lannisters as a Stark loyalist. But making Sandor Clegane laugh— _twice_ in the same conversation—that was my greatest accomplishment.

"Just as well, songbird. Archery's for twats who can't hold a sword," Sandor smirked.

"And I'm just a twat who can't do either," I chuckled bitterly.

Sandor didn't respond at first. He pulled me even closer against his side. With one more glance at our daughter, he began to scan the area. I followed his eyeline, worried that he had perhaps sensed danger. I was underwhelmed, yet relieved when I found his eyes locked on Thoros.

The priest was standing with Beric, far enough away that I couldn't hear a single word they were saying, nor could I even try to read their lips. I could, however, see Thoros as he raised his flask to his mouth and took a healthy swig.

"Yeh've spent a lot of time with the Brotherhood," Sandor started, his voice still playful. "Yeh ever give _him_ a hard time about drinking?"

I knew he meant his words in jest, I truly did. But the memories attached to the message made my heart grow heavy. I held onto him tightly and heaved a great sigh.

"I'm so sorry," I murmured. "I shouldn't have… I shouldn't have gotten so upset with you all those years ago. I should've never left that tavern." When I looked up at Sandor's face once again, I felt my eyes start to water. "All this time wasted…spent apart… It's all my fault."

Sandor took a deep breath. "'Snot yer fault, songbird. You had every right to be upset with me."

"Those awful men wouldn't have taken me if I had just been more patient with you," I shook my head. "I'm so sorry."

"Those awful men are at fault, not you."

My lips quivered at his words and I raised one of my hands to wipe at my tears before they fell from the brim of my eyes.

"Yeh're safe. Unhurt. That's all that matters," Sandor told me.

I craned my neck again and he leaned down to kiss my forehead. I nuzzled against his shoulder once more and felt him rub circles into my arm. I was so happy to be with him again, to feel his touch, to hear his deep and raspy voice.

"Not so far, Artemys," I called out as our daughter started to walk farther away.

Artemys stopped in her tracks and turned to look at me. She stared for a moment before plopping onto the ground where she was and continuing her artistry.

"So, are you one of these red cunts now?" Sandor asked.

"Fear not, my love," I felt myself grin. "I can't say I am."

"Course not," he breathed. "Yeh didn't much believe in anything as I remember."

"I didn't think I did, but…sometimes…" I shrugged. "With all that I've seen…and all that has happened to me in this life… It's hard to definitively say that there's nothing out there."

"Hmm?" Sandor grunted.

"It might all just be magic. It might all just be luck. It might be the gods themselves. And if it _is_ the latter, I can't help thinking they've punished me several times over," I said in a low voice. "I was sent away from Arya, the little girl I loved like she was a sister; a daughter, even. Then I was tortured by the Crown, as I'm sure you'll remember."

Sandor went rigid alongside me. He put his hand on my back, exactly in the middle of the scars from Meryn Trant's whip.

"And I was taken from you—the man I loved more than anything on this earth," I continued. "Then I heard you were dead and I wondered what I had done to deserve all of this.

"That's when I remembered…I'm a _kinslayer_. I killed my own father," I looked up into Sandor's eyes, no longer trying to hide my tears. "All of this and then some, it's my punishment from the gods."

I watched Sandor's throat bob under his beard. His fingertips dug into the back of my dress before he answered.

"He wasn't yer kin," Sandor finally said.

"He was my _father_ ," I pointed out. "His blood runs through my veins."

"Fuck that. Fuck what the gods think. Blood or not, he wasn't yer kin. Just as my _brother_ isn't my kin either," Sandor scowled. "Yer father deserved to die, Fallon. And _you_ deserved to kill him. I would've killed him myself if I thought otherwise."

I squeezed my eyes shut, causing the tears to stream down my cheeks faster than before. My body was shaking against Sandor's, so he held me close to him, not knowing what else to do to comfort me. Little did he know, this was all I would ever hope from him. His words, his arms—I needed nothing more.

When I started to calm down, I used both of my hands to wipe my face. I looked up at Sandor, who had glanced over at Artemys. His eyes met mine again and I gave him a wobbly smile.

I allowed myself a chuckle and leaned my head against his arm. "I believe that's the first time I've ever heard you speak my name."


	47. Desperate and Ugly

**Artemys's breathing was** slow and steady beside me in the tent. It had taken several ditties for me to get her to fall asleep, but she dozed off after the last line of the "Song of the Seven". I continued to stroke her soft hair for a moment, hoping she would stay asleep when I let go. I was very careful to slide away from her and tuck her into the furs before I stood and crept out of the tent.

The sky was gray when I stepped through the flaps. I could see a few brothers mulling around a nearby tree, laughing and drinking from their skins. Thoros was among them, the most animated of the bunch. Whatever he had seen in the flames, whatever he had told Beric about, it wasn't enough to keep him from having a bloody good time…though I'm sure the rum was helping quite a bit too.

I approached the men and sidled up to Thoros as he finished a story. I waited for the laughter to die down before I put an arm around the priest's waist to get his attention.

"Ah, sweet Fallon. How good it is to see you," Thoros greeted me, acting like we hadn't seen each other for some time.

"A pleasure, as always," I played along.

"And how is that little girl of yours?" he asked.

"Sleeping soundly, at long last," I replied before cupping a hand to his ear and leaning in. "I trust you'll keep my tent in your sights until I return for the night?"

"Of course," he whispered back. "You needn't ask."

While I was fond of many in the Brotherhood, I knew that not all of them were to be trusted. I didn't want to imagine any of them were like my father, but I would rather die than find out the hard way. Thoros and Beric were the only men still around I felt I could trust implicitly, especially now that Anguy had married Loralye and was living in the village with her and Collyn.

"Thank you, old friend," I patted Thoros's back and put my arms back at my sides.

I was about to walk off and find Sandor when I remembered something I had been meaning to say to Thoros for the past few days. I grabbed his elbow and pulled him a couple steps away to address him in private, making sure that my tent was still in view.

"And thank you…for stepping back," I started clumsily. "I know you love Artemys like she's your own, and I'm so glad she has a father figure in you. But now that Sandor is back… What I'm trying to say is, thank you for giving Artemys the space she needs in order to bond with him. I appreciate it. And I know Sandor appreciates it, even if he won't say it out loud."

"Course he won't," Thoros snickered and shook his head. He reached out and grabbed my shoulder. "You're right—I do love that girl like she's mine. It's been hard, keeping my distance, but I know it's the right thing to do."

"You may be a terrible priest, but you're a good man, Thoros of Myr," I told him.

Thoros sighed and gave me a bitter smile. "It feels strange every time she calls me _dada_ and you correct her. My name doesn't sound right on her tongue."

"Perhaps that's because she calls you _Thoss_ , not _Thoros_ ," I grinned.

Thoros cocked his head to the side and snickered again. Even at dusk I could see the sadness in his kind blue eyes, so I grabbed his gloved hands and squeezed.

"You may not share blood, but you will always be her _dada_ ," I told him. "You were there for her from the beginning. You've meant so much to the both of us. It's not something Artemys or I will ever forget."

Thoros bowed his head and then smiled back at me. He let go of my hands and pulled me into a quick hug before rejoining the men he had been chatting with.

* * *

 _"If you wake her, I will kill you."_

 _"I'd like to see yeh try," Sandor Clegane scoffed quietly._

 _The grin on Fallon's face, illuminated by the moon outside of the tent, betrayed her attempt at a threat. She looked up at Sandor for a moment before opening the flaps of the tent and stepping through. Sandor allowed himself a smirk and ducked in after her._

 _Fallon was careful not to disturb the little one as she folded back the furs. She smiled down at Artemys and sat cross-legged on her bedroll. She untied the bun behind her head and set to work braiding her long hair over her shoulder. Her eyes followed Sandor as he made his way to the bedroll he had pushed up against her own._

 _Sandor glanced over at the little one—his pup, as Fallon called her—and felt a heavy amount of pressure on his chest. If he thought hard enough he could still feel her tiny hands on his face, her kiss on his ugly scar._

 _That was_ his _little girl, he thought as he sat down gingerly and pulled the furs over his and Fallon's laps._ His _daughter was on the other side of Fallon, resting on her side, her little head swimming with dreams._

 _Artemys was a sweet thing from what he'd observed of her. After spending so much time with the wolf girl, it felt strange to be around the young child. She didn't hate his guts, she didn't try to kill him… No, she clambered into his lap at mealtimes, she dragged him along by his pantleg as she played around the campsite._

 _She was good, and she was kind—more attributes she had gotten from her mother._

 _As he lay himself down on his back, Sandor wondered how he could have possibly created something as pure as his little pup. If he didn't trust Fallon as much as he did, if he didn't know what a terrible liar she was, he might have thought someone else had sired the child on the other side of the tent._

 _Sandor closed his eyes just before Fallon laid down and rolled onto her side. She put her hand on his chest and leaned in close to his face before kissing his cheek. She lingered, waiting for him to pay her attention, he imagined. Sandor opened one eye and gave her a sidelong glance._

 _"What do you want?" he rumbled as quietly as he could._

 _Fallon smiled at him as she scrutinized his face. "I want to know what you're thinking."_

 _"I'm thinking you should let me sleep."_

 _"No," Fallon leaned in to kiss him on the cheek again. "What are your plans? For us?"_

 _Sandor opened both of his eyes and sighed. "Dondarrion says the Brotherhood could use me."_

 _"Is this the life you want?" she asked._

 _"Seems to be working for you," Sandor responded._

 _"I stayed with the Brotherhood thinking they would help me find you. You ended up finding_ me _. Now what?" Fallon tilted her head._

 _Sandor shrugged. "Yeh seem to be comfortable. The little one's been looked after."_

 _He was searching for anything to tell her that didn't involve what Thoros and Beric had spoken to him about. He didn't know how to tell her that he wanted to help more than he'd harmed, that he'd been moved by the words of Brother Ray and even the poncey Beric Dondarrion. He hoped that Fallon still knew him as well as it always seemed she did and that she'd see without him having to say it out loud._

 _"Why?" Sandor turned his head to the side to see her better. "What've you been thinking about?"_

 _"I don't know," Fallon looked down and traced circles on his chest absentmindedly. She was silent for a moment before looking back into his eyes in the darkness. "All I know is that I want the three of us to be a family. A_ proper _family."_

 _Sandor cocked his good eyebrow and searched Fallon's face for any source of humor. But he came up empty. Even her smile had faded._

 _"You saying you want me to_ marry _you?" Sandor furrowed his brow._

 _Fallon looked away again and shrugged. "They say every little girl dreams of her wedding day."_

 _"Seem to remember a time when that was the last thing you wanted to talk about."_

 _The woman beside him grinned sheepishly as she too recalled the idiot drummer's offers and advances. Sandor couldn't help but think of the time she'd come to his room to return his waterskin, and the time when they found each other in the baths at the Red Keep._

 _He felt a twinge when the image of Fallon's sad, tired eyes flashed in his head. He'd tried to get under her skin, to make her smile again. He'd even offered to track someone else down to dispose of them, if that's what it took. It had hurt him to see her so upset. It hurt him more than he ever thought it would._

 _"When I was an adolescent, I only dreamed of marrying the kind and funny Benjen Stark," Fallon admitted with the ghost of a smile on her face. "Even though I was lowborn with no family name and he'd taken the black, I still hoped he'd come sweep me off my feet into the weirwood trees… Foolish, I know, but I was young._

 _"After I gave up on all my hopes of being_ Lady Fallon Stark _, I resigned myself to the fact that my best chance at marriage was that stable boy I'd given my first kiss to," she snickered to herself. "But then Lord Arryn died and the Baratheons and Lannisters came to Winterfell, and I saw a man in a hound's head helm…"_

 _"Yeh want to be Fallon Clegane, is that it?" Sandor asked._

 _"I want to be_ your wife _," Fallon got up on her elbow and gently kissed his lips._

 _"Never thought I'd marry," Sandor confessed with a sigh._

 _Fallon gulped and reached down to pull the furs up higher on their bodies. She turned to make sure she hadn't woken up Artemys, and when she came back, she nestled into Sandor's shoulder._

 _"I'll never forget that night when you told me you were concerned about my marriage prospects," Fallon said with a playful air. Sandor could feel her face contorting into a smirk against him. "You were so worried that someone would see me knocking at your door in the middle of the night. '_ Yeh'll be branded a fucking whore _'," she said in an exaggerated imitation of his voice. "'_ And any fucking chance of a decent marriage for yeh is ripped to pieces _'."_

 _"I don't say 'fucking' that much."_

 _"You certainly do," Fallon snickered quietly. "You're so used to it you don't even notice."_

 _Sandor scowled down at her with good humor but didn't say anything._

 _"You told me you couldn't see me spinning wool. Do you remember?" Fallon continued._

 _"Aye," Sandor took a deep breath._

 _"You told me the only man who'd ask for my hand would be desperate and ugly."_

 _"Aye, I did."_

 _"And do you remember what_ I _told_ you _?" Fallon asked._

 _Sandor swallowed hard but kept mum again._

 _"I said I didn't much care for looks, and I don't," Fallon kissed his collarbone over his shirt. "I only care about what's on the inside. A good heart means more to me than a pretty face." She got up on her elbow again and scrutinized Sandor once more. "For what it's worth, I think you're very handsome."_

 _"Fuck off," Sandor furrowed his brow._

 _"I do," Fallon smiled down at him and removed her hand from his chest to cup his cheek. "What…happened to you as a child… Had you not been burned, you'd be beating women away with a stick, I know it. You wouldn't have thought twice about little Arya Stark's annoying handmaiden."_

 _Sandor scowled more, this time with less humor. It had taken a long time before he'd allowed himself to believe that someone as beautiful and kind as her could ever love him. But there was no way she thought he was_ handsome _. She was kissing his arse, trying to get him to bend to her will._

 _"I mean it," Fallon implored._

 _Perhaps she was much better at lying than Sandor previously had thought. She almost sounded convincing._

 _"I told you…" she continued clumsily, "…that if I ever married, I'd marry for love. And I meant that. I still do._

 _"I love you. And I will love you until I breathe my last breath. Whatever comes after this life—darkness or seven heavens—I will still love you even then."_

 _Sandor felt the knot in his throat swelling. It had always been hard for him, coming to terms with the fact that he loved someone and she loved him back. He had lived his whole life knowing that he was shit—good for nothing but killing people. He'd spent so long being the Hound, Joffrey's vicious, ugly guard dog._

 _But then Fallon smiled at him. The brunette beauty who sang and played the lute, who watched over the wolf bitch. She wasn't afraid to look in his eyes. She wanted to speak to him. She wanted to know his name. She wanted to understand him on a human level._

 _And now she wanted to marry him._

 _"Go to sleep, songbird," he grumbled as he laid his head back and closed his eyes. He put his arm around her and pulled her down against his chest. "Yeh'll wake the girl."_

 _Fallon sighed against him, but she was as insistent as ever. "_ The girl _is your bastard. Artemys Rivers, if you acknowledge her as such."_

 _Sandor opened his eyes when he felt Fallon fight against his tight arm and pull herself back up to stare at him._

 _"I thought I heard that your brother had fallen in some trial by combat," Fallon added. "But I've heard conflicting reports that he's still alive, serving as a guard for Cersei. Either way, aren't_ you _the rightful lord of House Clegane?"_

 _"_ Lord _," Sandor sneered. "My grandfather was a landed knight. Saved Tywin Lannister's daddy from a lioness many years ago. We have no authority, just a keep and whatever servants my brother didn't kill for sneezing._

 _"'Sides, I swore Kingsguard vows long before_ you _started bothering me about marriage," he continued with a smirk on his face. "Forbidden from marriage and titles and fathering children."_

 _"Seems to me you've already broken one of your vows, what's the harm in a few more?"_

 _Sandor gave her a look. Fallon seemed to understand his tone and was playing along._

 _"Tell me, my love, are you_ still _a part of dear, dead_ Joffrey _'s Kinsguard?" she asked. "Here I am, thinking you walked away from all that white cloak nonsense… Quite literally, in fact. What was it you were so fond of saying? '_ Fuck the king _'?"_

 _Sandor was unable to keep his smirk from growing. He reached up and took Fallon's braid in his hand, running his fingers over the smooth twists and turns. He looked into her eyes and saw her smiling down at him, and he wondered for the millionth time what he had done to deserve her._

 _"Why is it you want to marry me so badly? You really want to be_ Lady Clegane _?" he cocked his brow._

 _"I couldn't care less about titles, but it_ does _have a nice ring to it…" Fallon tapped her grinning lips. "I told you long ago that I'm not ashamed to be with you. I would bear your name with the utmost pride," she said in a more serious tone. "I was also thinking…after this Great War Beric's been speaking of…after it's over…it might be nice to raise little Artemys in your family's keep."_

 _Sandor let go of her braid, letting it swing over Fallon's shoulder. He felt heavy pressure on his chest and his smirk finally disappeared. He thought about his father, the man who defended Gregor after he disfigured Sandor, who died in a so-called hunting accident. He thought of his sister, whom he hardly remembered other than a feeling of overwhelming sadness. He thought of the toy knight, Gregor's toy knight. He could feel his face burning, melting in the fire as his screams echoed through Clegane's Keep._

 _"_ No _," Sandor hissed._

 _Fallon pursed her lips. She seemed to understand what she had been asking of him because her eyes grew sadder. He could see her pity staring back at him._

 _"That keep doesn't house any happy memories," he said much gentler before she could apologize to him._

 _"Of course," she said so softly he could barely hear her. "Forgive me, I was only thinking…we could create new memories. We could fill the halls with Artemys's laughter…"_

 _Sandor appreciated what she was saying, but she needed to be more realistic about what the future held. War, cold winds, whatever the coming days would bring, there were no guarantees._

 _"I'm going north with the Brotherhood," Sandor told her. "There's a strong chance none of us'll find our way back south…"_

 _Fallon closed her eyes tightly, understanding the truth, but not seeming to want to accept it. After a moment, she opened them back up and licked her lips._

 _"At the very least…" she glanced over at Artemys, who was sleeping soundly, completely unbothered by their whispered conversation. "At the very least, you'd be setting her up for a better life, even as an acknowledged bastard._

 _"We've enjoyed our time with the Brotherhood, yes, but you can't argue that she'd have a much brighter future if we…" Fallon shook her head, trying to collect her thoughts. "We can't live our lives making camp with the Brotherhood. She deserves better than this."_

 _Sandor considered her words for a long moment. He didn't know his daughter very well. Not yet, anyway. But he did know that he loved her, and he loved Fallon, the pain in his arse that she was. They_ both _deserved better._

 _"I hoped it wouldn't come to this…" Fallon added, her face cracking into a cheeky grin, "but if you don't marry me, perhaps I'll take Artemys up north and see if the Boltons didn't flay that stable boy during their time at Winterfell. What was his name again? Maynard? Abner? Ed?"_

 _Sandor tried not to smirk. That damned woman… She was lucky he loved her so much. She was lucky all he did was pull her into his chest once again and hold her close to him. Anyone else and he would've skewered them for needling him so much._

 _"Maybe if you'll let me sleep, then I'll fucking marry you," he said as he closed his tired eyes._

 _Fallon won. And she knew it. He could feel the corner of her lips curling upwards, her cheek tightening up against him. But she was smart enough not to gloat. She wasn't taking any chances, not when the thing she wanted was on the line._

 _Sandor knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Fallon, no matter the capacity. He'd always thought of marriage being something perfumed lords and ladies did for land and power. He never thought it was something he would find himself doing. But now Fallon was going to be his_ wife _. And the more Sandor thought about it before he finally fell asleep, the more he liked the sound of it._ Fallon Clegane _._

 _Never had Sandor's family name sounded so sweet._


	48. One Heart, One Flesh, One Soul

**Thoros stared at** me like I was mad. His eyebrows were high, wrinkling his scarred forehead. His lips were parted, but no words were coming out at this point in the morning.

"I'm as serious as the grave," I said to him.

" _He_ told you he wants me to marry the two of you?" the priest glanced over at Sandor, who was standing a few paces away from us, holding Artemys in his arms the way Thoros used to.

"…Not in so many words," I tilted my head from side to side. "But you're the best chance we have." I swiveled my body and beckoned Sandor to come over.

"Neither one of you believe in the Lord of Light," Thoros pointed out.

"Neither one of us really believe in _anything_ ," I countered. "But we're willing to do whatever we have to."

Sandor gave me a sidelong glance and set Artemys down on her feet when he came to my side. I snaked my arm around his waist and rested my head against him.

"Thoss!" Artemys squealed, reaching her arms up to the priest.

I could see Thoros's blue eyes glisten before he reached down to lift my daughter up. He sat her on his hip and kissed her forehead. He had truly missed her in the time he spent keeping a distance. And I knew she'd missed him.

"What do you think, little darling?" he murmured to her. "Am I your mummy and daddy's best chance?"

Artemys cocked her head to the side in confusion.

"Shall I do it, then?" Thoros asked, a smirk on his face.

"Get on with it," Sandor grumbled beside me.

Thoros's smirk grew when he exchanged glances with me. He looked back at my daughter and hugged her tighter to him. "Suppose I shall, then."

"Thank you," I breathed.

"Perhaps this little one could help me find a ditch and kindling, eh?" Thoros glanced from Artemys to me. His words made Sandor go rigid against my side.

"What do you need a ditch and kindling for?" I asked, putting a comforting hand on Sandor's stomach.

"I'm a Red priest, not a septon," Thoros sighed. "We'll need to set a fire in a ditch tonight, then you two will leap over —"

"Fuck off," Sandor growled, turning his head away.

"Just hear him out, love," I said softly, squeezing him tightly against me.

"Had a feeling he wouldn't like it," Thoros shook his head slowly, a knowing smile on his face.

"G'wan," I nodded to the Myrish priest before us.

"We'll need to set a fire in a ditch tonight," he repeated himself slower, "then you two will leap over as two separate souls, but land as one. _What fire joins, none may put asunder_ , and all that."

I licked my lips, knowing that Sandor would never agree to that, and that I could never ask something like this of him. I had asked enough of him to consider our marriage at all, but I loved him too much to put him through something like this.

"Is there…is there another way?" I asked.

Sandor whipped his head around and stared down at me. His body was much less rigid on my side.

Thoros sighed once more and shrugged one shoulder. He looked at Artemys, who was playing with his surcoat on his other shoulder.

"Please," I whispered.

"I told you, I'm not a septon," Thoros responded, meeting my gaze.

"You also told me the Lord of Light has been keeping Sandor alive for a reason," I started, not thrown-off by my love scoffing over my head. "If He cares so much for Sandor, then perhaps He'll understand, given the circumstances…"

Thoros took a very deep breath and shook his head. He looked away from me and addressed Artemys once more. "Your mother is very lucky, did you know that? There's not many I'd forsake my own values for…"

* * *

The night air was cold on my face, but not cold enough to distract me from the tingling sensation in my stomach. With one hand grasping my skirts and the other on Beric's arm, we approached the tree. Thoros stood with his back to the large trunk, his eyes shimmering in the torchlight. Artemys was sitting at his feet, yawning as she dug in the dirt with a small stick. Sandor was across from them, gazing warily over the fur on his cloaked shoulder at the brothers holding said torches. He turned as he heard Beric step on a twig and laid his eyes on me, softening his look.

"There she is, our beautiful bride," Thoros smirked at me.

Sandor gave him what appeared to be a warning glare. I felt myself grow amused at the thought of him being jealous of _Thoros_ , as if he didn't already know that my heart belonged to Sandor and Sandor alone.

"Am I supposed to ask who gives her away?" Thoros asked Beric in a stage-whisper as we came to a stop next to Sandor.

"Wouldn't hurt, I suppose," the one-eyed man shrugged at my side.

"Who gives her away, then?" Thoros drawled lazily. I could almost feel Sandor rolling his eyes beside me at the priest's tone.

"Beric of House Dondarrion," said the Lightning Lord as he uncurled his arm from mine and stepped off to the side.

"Lived in King's Landing long enough to remember _some_ things about these Faith of the Seven weddings," Thoros muttered to himself as he reached up to untie the bun at the crown of his head. He smoothed his scraggily hair back as best he could and brandished the ribbon.

I caught a glimpse of the frown on Sandor's face when Thoros gestured for us to give him our arms. I grinned, not expecting such a hard man to be dismayed at the prospect of touching the dark gray ribbon. Sandor sighed, not airing any more of his disdain, and he lifted his right forearm and clasped onto my hand.

"Don't forget the cloak," Beric piped up.

"Right, right," Thoros murmured. "Go on, cloak her with your protection."

Sandor was losing more of the patience he'd banked for my sake. He made a grumbling noise in the back of his throat and let go of my hand. He was rough as he thrust his fur-lined cloak off his shoulders, but gentle as he placed it around mine.

I offered him a smile and that seemed to calm him down some, though I imagined he was not far from wanting to rip the priest's throat out. When we joined hands again, I rubbed a circle into his skin with the tip of my thumb.

Thoros cleared his throat before speaking again. "Lord of Light, I ask you to forgive me for performing this ceremony in your sight—"

"Just say the fucking words and get on with it," Sandor growled, officially losing any semblance of the patience he once had.

Thoros raised an eyebrow up at Sandor, nothing worse than annoyance on his face. I caught Thoros's eye and gave him a sheepish smile. His lips cracked into another smirk and he shook his head as he lifted his ribbon once again, loosely tying it around our hands.

"I hereby see these two souls, binding them as one for eternity," Thoros breathed, glancing at Beric, as if to make sure he was doing it correctly. "Look upon one another and…say whatever a septon would tell you to say, I don't bloody know."

It was all I could do not to laugh out loud as I carefully turned and saw the irritated expression on Sandor's face. I offered him another smile and stared into his eyes, hoping he could see in mine just how much I loved him.

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger," we spoke in unison. "I am his and he is mine," I said, just as he said the same, changing only the pronouns, "from this day, until the end of my days."

I felt my eyes begin to well with tears as I beamed up at Sandor. At my _husband_. This was the moment I had been waiting for, for longer than I had even known. I began to wonder if there really was a higher power, if the gods, however many there may be, drew my eyes to that hound-shaped helm the day Robert Baratheon rode into Winterfell.

I stood on my toes and raised my free hand to Sandor's neck as he leaned down awkwardly to kiss me. I had an inkling he felt uncomfortable kissing me around the other men, but I could not have cared less. Part of the ritual or not, I needed to feel the warmth of his body, his lips against mine, his hand on the curve of my waist.

He was my husband. He was my love.

"One heart, one flesh, one soul," Beric added.

"Aye," Thoros nodded, bending down to pick Artemys up and lay her over his shoulder as she began to fall asleep. "One heart, one flesh, one soul."

* * *

 _Sandor Clegane's eyes opened in the middle of the night. He was met with darkness, lit only by the glow of the moon outside of their tent. Momentarily disoriented, he turned his head to the left, finding nothing, before turning to his right and seeing Fallon beside him, her scarred back to him._

 _Had he not remembered that she was spending the night with Thoros, Sandor might have panicked when he didn't find Artemys. Sandor rarely panicked in his life, the last time he remembered being the morning after the wolf girl explained her list to him. She'd rattled off several names of people she wanted to kill, most names he agreed with. But she was disturbing his sleep and he wanted her to shut the fuck up._

 _"_ I'm almost done _," she'd said coldly. Even though he'd closed his eyes, he could feel her glaring at him with those ridiculously large ones of hers. "_ Only one name left _." And that one last name was his own. He could still hear her voice in his head. "_ The Hound _."_

 _He was embarrassed at how quickly he'd jumped to his feet that next morning when he saw her empty bedroll. She was small, but he'd seen her kill more than once before. She could have easily been hiding, ready to attack him when he was unawares._

 _Fortunately for him, he found her_ dancing _with her sword down on a riverbank. When confronted, she'd spouted off about some greasy-haired little bastard from Braavos. Then he teased her enough to make her actually try to cross his name off her list. What was it he said that made her try to stick him with her Needle? "_ I bet his hair's greasier than Joffrey's cunt _"? "_ Any boy-whore with a sword could beat _three_ Meryn Trants _"? "_ Greatest swordsman who ever lived didn't have a sword _"?_

 _No, he recalled, he'd tried to catch her in the hot air she was blowing. He_ told _her to show him what she could do with her sword. "_ Go on, do it for your Braavosi friend. Dead like all the rest of your _friends," he'd said, back when they both though Fallon was long gone._

 _Sandor felt a smirk creep onto his face as he tried to imagine what the wolf girl would think when she discovered her beloved handmaiden was not only alive and well, but was also now_ married _to the man she'd despised since he rode down her precious butcher's boy._

 _That's right, Sandor thought to himself, Fallon was now his wife. The beautiful woman who reminded him what it was like to care and be cared for. The woman who saw the part of him he'd hidden long before, the part he hardly believed still existed within him. She'd declared her love for him in the middle of the woods to the gods neither one of them truly believed in. She was his and he was hers._

 _The woman in question rolled over in her sleep, nestling her body closer to him. He felt her bare skin against his and discovered she was cold. Sandor tugged the furs up to Fallon's chin and pulled her into his chest. She buried her head into his neck and her hand rested over his heart. Sandor covered it with his own hand and stared down the length of his body. His large feet were exposed to the cold air, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make to keep Fallon warm._

 _"Thank you," she murmured suddenly._

 _Sandor furrowed his brow, not sure if she was really awake or if she were merely talking in her sleep. "Hmm?" he grunted in case the former were true._

 _"Thank you," she repeated herself, lifting her head to look him in the eye. "I know you were reluctant about our marriage. I appreciate that you went through with it…if only to appease me."_

 _Sandor absentmindedly traced the scars on her back under the furs. He stared into her bleary eyes and took a deep breath._

 _"Made sense," he shrugged his shoulders. "I've been yours and you've been mine for some time now."_

 _The smile on Fallon's face grew slowly. But for what seemed like the first time since he'd known her, she didn't say anything. She merely lowered her head and returned it to his neck. Her body melted against his and he could feel her drift off back to sleep. After a moment, he removed his hand from the top of hers and wrapped both of his arms against her, holding her tight enough that he didn't disturb her._

 _He didn't like talking. Much less did he like talking about his feelings. But he knew that he didn't have to speak a word for Fallon to know how he felt about her. Even after all of the time they'd spent apart, she knew him better than he seemed to know himself. But he did know this…_

 _He loved her._

 _And she loved him._

* * *

 **Sorry it's short, but at least it's sweet, right?**

 **LESS THAN ONE MONTH UNTIL SEASON EIGHT CAN YOU FEEL THE HYPE?**


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